


The Manor of Alcor

by RNWalker



Category: Gravity Falls, Transcendence AU - Fandom
Genre: Character Death(s), Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RNWalker/pseuds/RNWalker
Summary: Orso "Orrie" Walter is one of ten guests to enter the family-friendly attraction known as the Manor of Alcor. But what started as a fun getaway to solve a murder mystery quickly devolves into something much more sinister. With a real killer on the loose and them forced to play their game, Orrie and the other guests may not all be making it out alive…





	1. Chapter 1

He checked the time on his phone once more as he continued to walk down the secluded path. 7:00AM. He was still thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Perfect!

Still, after readjusting the straps on his backpack and his hold on his suitcase, Orrie increased his pace. Though this road just on the outskirts of town was assuredly safe, and streetlights brightly lined the pathway, it was still early in the morning and anything could happen to a boy out in the woods alone. So when he saw the bus stop just at the top of the hill he let out a thankful sigh. As he neared, it turned out he wasn't the first to make the trek here.

Three others sat on the short bench flooded with artificial light. Two, who had to be a couple judging by the way the young woman was resting her head on her husband's shoulder and how the two of them were dozing, sat nearest the sign. The other man with the incredibly long silver hair and summer trench coat sat closer to the other end, reading a novel. He glanced up when Orrie approached and scooted over some to give the boy a space to sit. Orrie, smiling shyly, took the offer graciously. As he put down his backpack and suitcase, the man closed his book. "Are you here by yourself?"

"Um, yes sir," Orrie answered, letting his legs rest. The man, which Orrie could now see had some long, pointy ears, frowned only slightly.

"You didn't want to come with anyone else?"

Orrie blushed. "Well, I'm kinda treating myself to this excursion. An early birthday present."

"Ah." The man's expression instantly brightened. "So it's also your first time going to the manor?"

"Yes sir. It took me ages to convince my parents to let me sign up for the event. I think they only agreed because they thought I wouldn't be one of the two to get randomly picked to go. But I'm so glad I was. It's a really popular attraction, I hear."

"That it is," agreed the man, "I chose to go on the waiting list. It was a year's wait, but I'm not going to complain." He lifted a brow at Orrie. "You know, I'd never thought someone as young as you would be very excited to visit the Manor of Alcor."

"No way! I love Alcor." He then laughed, embarrassed. "Okay, that came out so wrong. I mean that I find Alcor a really cool guy." By now the other couple had woken up and turned their attention to the two. "My grandfather used to be part of a tiny Alcor branch when he was a teenager– you know, back when cults were a big deal. He'd tell me all the times he and his friends would summon Alcor and they'd just do fun stuff like play a real-life version of DD&MD and get the whole town involved, or have music battles in the middle of the street with the local musicians, or tutor kids after school through the use of sock puppets. I mean, they also did other cult stuff, but that was mainly just for formality; most of the time it was just hanging out with Alcor while also helping the community." He blushed faintly. "I'm not scared of him like others are, though I know I should be."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," the man stated gently. Orrie glanced up at him, his blush still present. "You grew up knowing of the kinder side of Alcor, the side most of the world doesn't get to see. While I myself have grown accustomed to the dark stories involving the Dreambender, I'm well aware he's not the pure evil most regard him as." Orrie nodded, his small smile growing. The man held out a hand. "Flynn Fairfern. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Orrie Walter," answered Orrie, shaking his hand. "May I ask why you're here?"

Flynn smiled wistfully. "Oh, it's for nothing important. I just want to test my skills one last time so I can fully enjoy my retirement."

"Retirement? But you're young." To Orrie, the man looked no older than maybe his mid-thirties.

Flynn chuckled. "I appreciate the compliment, but I should inform you that elves are typically twice as old as you think they are."

"Oh." Well, that was embarrassing. "You say skills. Are—were you a detective?"

"Yes. I specialized in organized criminal investigations, usually working undercover to gather information. I tried to steer clear of actual confrontations if I could help it."

"Still, you must have had quite an exciting career," the young woman from the other side of the bench spoke up, "I wouldn't envy a bit more adventure in my life."

Flynn's eyes went distant for a moment. "Exciting, sometimes. But most of my days were simple if not a tad dull. Honestly, I preferred those days over the exciting ones."

"I hear ya," the young man replied, squeezing his wife's shoulder, "Sometimes it's nice to just sit back and enjoy the tranquility."

"Is that why you're going to the manor?" Orrie asked them.

"Partly, though we're going to try and solve the mystery too," the man admitted, "But it's so far from the hustle and bustle of civilization that even if we don't Zahia and I have a spectacular scenery to enjoy nonetheless. It'll be our perfect honeymoon." They nuzzled each other on the nose before the young husband shook Orrie and Flynn's hands. "Cliff Lionhart. This is my wife Zahia."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintances. And also congratulations."

"Thank you," Zahia smiled at Flynn. The sounds of brisk footsteps grabbed all of their attentions. A fifth member to the party approached, wearing a red coat even longer and far more extravagant than Flynn's. He had a rugged face and large mustache, and for the oddest of reasons he reminded Orrie of a circus ringleader he saw in those old movies and outdated books. The newcomer dropped his bag by the sign, looking at the lot.

"And here I thought I'd be the first to arrive. Nice to see so many youngsters this time around." Flynn made nothing of the comment as he and the others introduced themselves. "Siegfried Connolly. And don't take this the wrong way, lady and gents, but I intend to be the first to solve the mystery at the Manor of Alcor."

"Oh you do, do ya?" Cliff chuckled. It was obvious he was only teasing, but Siegfried leered at him nonetheless. "You sound pretty confident, Mr. Connolly. I'm going to use my deductive reasoning skills and say you've been to the manor before."

"Indeed I have," sniffed Siegfried, straightening his coat, "And the last time I came I was this close to solving the mystery." He brought his index finger and thumb close together. "I'll admit I was with several of my colleagues last time, though, so I had a lot more help. But I don't believe it'll be as difficult for me to find all the clues again." Zahia giggled as Cliff rolled his eyes, still smirking.

Orrie, however, grew even more excited. "Are they really that hard to find? I mean, if the outing lasts the whole weekend and no one has yet solved the mystery it must be challenging."

Siegfried grinned. "Of course it has to be challenging. You have to really know your—ah! I can't say; it'll spoil the fun. But don't doubt for a moment that it's hard. After all, it is no small prize given to whoever solves the mystery."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," said Zahia, "They never did advertise much about the prize, just that there was one if you could solve the mystery. I guess because they want to keep guests more focused on that. I wonder what it is, though."

"One million dollars," Siegfried answered, to the gasps of several of them. "Though I'm not supposed to tell. Contracts, remember. But I intend to win it all. No hard feelings or nothing."

"None taken," Flynn replied curtly, returning to his book.

"Ditto," answered Orrie. While the prize's value was definitely enticing, it still didn't change his true excitement of just solving the mystery, whatever it may be.

"A million dollars would be nice," mused Cliff.

More minutes ticked by, the group chatting amiably when the next two guests made their way slowly up the hill. They were an elderly couple, and Cliff and Siegfried hastened to assist them to the bench, where Flynn and Orrie readily offered them their seats. "Oh, you are all too kind," the old lady smiled sweetly, sitting down next to her husband. "You didn't have to do that."

"It's nothing at all," spoke Flynn, and the others nodded.

"Are you youngsters going to be solving the mystery?" the old man asked, somehow sounding not at all nosy. When the other guests confirmed they were, he chuckled, a light wheezing sound. "Ah, well, you don't have to worry about us old geezers. Jillian and I won't be participating."

"Why not?" Orrie asked, curious. Jillian set down her cane.

"We just want to enjoy one weekend in a nice place. We've never been to an elegant home before, and we heard the manor is an idyllic haven for those wanting to get away for a small while. Jackson and I, unfortunately, may not have much longer together, so we wanted to share one last, happy memory with each other."

Siegfried nodded respectfully. "Then you won't be disappointed. The manor is as beautiful as you picture it to be, with its many rooms and scenic gardens. If ever you need anything, the housekeepers will provide." The old couple smiled warmly at his words.

Heavy panting could soon be heard, and they all turned to see a rather large man struggle to make the climb to the bus stop. He staggered over to the sign, collapsed under it, and snatched a small bag of chips and a water bottle from his suitcase. He immediately downed them both in a matter of seconds. "Too…far…" he huffed, wiping moisture away from his one eye. Jackson leaned over towards the cyclops, handing him a handkerchief. "Thanks."

"We're only half a mile away from the nearest town," Cliff said to the newcomer, a bit of concern highlighting his tone, "Are ya sure you're up to the task?"

"Of what, solving the mystery?" the cyclops grumbled, reaching for another bag of chips. "I don't care about that. I'm only coming because I had nothing better to do and my friend offered me xir ticket. Hear the place has some good food, though." He finished his second bag as he said this. "The name's Duglas Segal, by the way. Just call me Dug." The rest greeted him in turn.

It wasn't long after when the bus finally showed up. The party grabbed their various belongs and made their way toward the small white vehicle once it stopped and opened its doors for them. Orrie silently thanked the person in charge of all this for sending a bus with comfortable seats; the bench had been too hard for him. As the lot boarded, Orrie frowned, counting silently in his head. Disregarding the secondary guests who were allowed to come along with a ticketholder, there should be seven people boarding. At least one person was missing.

"Hey, someone's still missing," Orrie said, flashing his ticket before he could board. The driver shook his head.

"Everybody was told the bus would be leaving at exactly 7:30AM and to be at the stop on time. The drive's nearly four hours long, kid; we're on a tight enough schedule as it is."

But it just didn't sit right with Orrie to leave without the last person; this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that no one should miss out on. "Can't you hold on for five more minutes? My, uh, my friend told me they were running a bit late and would be here soon."

"Kid, we got to go. We need to beat traffic if we're to get to the manor on time."

"But—"

"On the bus. Now." Disheartened, Orrie grabbed his suitcase and took a step onto the bus. He could just make out pounding footsteps coming towards them and turned just before his head could disappear behind the door. The last two guests were running as fast as they could, their luggage banging wildly against them as they raced toward them.

"Wait, hold on! They're right there!" Leaning out the bus, he waved them to hurry up. "Come on, you guys! You can make it!"

"Kid, sit down already." But the final two members leaped onto the bus, huffing and laughing with relief that they just made it. Orrie helped them get their stuff, guiding them toward the back of the bus. The grumbling driver didn't wait for them to take their seats, already backing up and driving back down the road he came. Orrie took the seat all the way in the back, the other two taking the row across from him, placing their luggage under the seats in front of them.

"Phew! That was a close one," the teenage girl grinned, still trying to catch her breath. The boy next to her leaned his head against the window, also smiling.

"For the record, I was ready to go before you even got up," he said.

"Yeah right. You were in the middle of double-checking everything in your suitcase _again_ by the time dad started the car."

"I'm just glad you could make it," said Orrie. At least now he wouldn't be the only kid going to manor, even if these two were a few years older than him. Perhaps fifteen? "I'm Orrie. Are you two also a couple? Because we have a couple of those already." He nodded his head toward the Lionharts and Jackson and Jillian. The girl snickered.

"Ew, no! We're twins." She held out her hand, which Orrie shook. "I'm Belle. This is my dorky bro-bro Dipper. Nice to meetcha', Orrie." Dipper reached past his sister to shake Orrie's hand as well.

"So did you drag your brother along for the ride?"

"Actually, I—"

"Are you kidding?" the sister spoke over her brother, "Dipper's the one who begged me to come along. He was one of the lucky two to win a free ticket."

"I didn't _beg_ you, I _asked_ ," he retorted, but Orrie wasn't really listening, his eyes lit up.

"Really? Me too!" And he showed them his ticket. "So why'd you sign up? Are you going to solve the mystery or to relax in an awesome mansion?"

"Honestly, I'm more interested in whatever they have to say about this Alcor legend," Dipper answered, smirking slightly. "Solving the mystery should be hardly a challenge at all. But I've heard nearly every story there is about Alcor, and not once did I hear of him owning a mansion of sorts."

"I know, right? You'd think if he did it'd be all over the history books and demonology texts. Nah, the only building that frequently pops up in articles about him is the Stanley Pines Memorial Library in Gravity Falls, and I just think that's a place he visited a lot because of where it is and the amount of knowledge it holds. If you ask me, Alcor doesn't seem the type to want a mansion of any kind unless it was with, uh, people…" He noticed how Belle and Dipper were giving him odd looks. He coughed nervously. "Er…so I presume."

"…You seem to know quite a bit about Alcor," Dipper narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, "For a kid, I mean."

"I spent hours reading about him, his cults, Mizar, the Transcendence– everything," Orrie admitted, looking away and messing with his glasses. "My grandfather was the one who introduced me to the subject, being in an Alcor branch when he was younger. The Seekers of Starlight? You probably never heard of them." Dipper leaned back against his seat, his eyes closed.

"I think I have. Wasn't it that tiny cult located in a small town in Delaware?" Orrie nodded, surprised the boy knew that. "Its name popped up once or twice during my readings," Dipper hastily added, sensing Orrie's look.

"Oh. I didn't know it was that popular."

"Oh yeah. They did a lot of interesting stuff, I hear."

"I wish I could meet him," sighed Orrie, leaning back in his seat as well. "He sounds like a neat guy. Bringing shelter to the homeless. Defending the defenseless. Fighting evildoers alongside Mizar. If only I could summon him like my grandpa did."

Dipper cracked an eye open at him. "You do know it's _not_ a good idea to summon the most dangerous demon known on a whim, right?"

"Oh, I know, I know," the boy hurriedly assured him, "Grandpa always warned me never to try summoning anything unless in grave trouble. He told me how Alcor would constantly lecture them about that kind of stuff. Still, it's just…" He paused. He shook his head. "Nevermind, you're right. Forget it." The two eyed him curiously, but they fortunately didn't press the matter further. They spent a little over two hours talking about other things, school and personal life, and Orrie was really starting to like them. The twins—Belle and Dipper Sterling he found out—seemed to be magnets for trouble and adventure, something Orrie always secretly craved in his own life. Between running away from cultists and finding sea demons there seemed to be a never-ending amount of stories they shared with him. "Wow, you guys practically live the life of Montana Martinez. Lucky!"

"Wait, you watch those movies too?"

"You bet! He's awesome! Did you know they're rebooting the franchise?" And so that developed into the topic of movies for the next half hour with them ignoring Belle as she rolled her eyes and teased "Dorks," under her breath. Orrie was having such a great time with them that it didn't feel like much time had passed when he felt someone gently shaking him awake. He rubbed his eyes gingerly, wondering when exactly he dozed off.

"We're here," Flynn said, giving him one last nudge. "You should wake your friends."

Orrie sat up, looking at the time on his phone. It was half an hour before noon. He quickly turned to his new friends and woke them up, telling them they'd arrived. Belle yawned as Dipper stretched, but it wasn't a minute later before the three of them and Flynn were stepping off the bus. Orrie gasped in awe.

The manor was spectacular. The three-story structure made of faded tan bricks stood impressively over the wide, open yard of freshly cut grass. The cobblestone pathway cut the massive yard evenly in two, with a miniature hedge maze located to its left and a stone lagoon swimming pool with surrounding outdoor furniture to its right. Nestled beside the manor was a fairly large greenhouse with various plants and shrubs growing inside it (Orrie couldn't help chuckling at the rainbow pinwheel spinning merrily on top of the glass structure despite there not being a breeze). Men and women all dressed in identical but comfortable attire were gathered around a barbecue and table, and the delicious smell of grilled burgers and corn was making Orrie's stomach growl eagerly. Orrie looked back, watching the bus drive through the tall metal gates that closed with a heavy slam behind it.

The guests walked silently down the pathway, ending up on the front stairs of the manor. Before anyone could knock, the front doors opened by themselves and an old maid stepped out, beaming cheerily at them all. "Welcome to the Manor of Alcor," she greeted them before stepping back and bowing slightly. "I'm Ms. Wheatly. Please come in, kind guests." They all stepped inside, steadily if not a bit slowly making their way to the large foyer that split into several hallways. Ms. Wheatly led them down the one on the far right. "The Master will be with you shortly," she spoke, opening a door and letting them step inside the room before closing it behind them. It looked to be a parlor room with its numerous chairs and sofas, mantle, and tiny bookshelf. Orrie made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, dropping his luggage down in front of him. Most of the others were inclined to do the same, with only Flynn and Siegfried preferring to stand and pace around the room.

Orrie was beginning to let his mind wander and wonder when they were going to have some grilled food when the lamps in the room began to flicker. He sat up straighter, watching the other visitors glance around to what could possibly be causing the faulty wiring. Suddenly, the lights went off entirely, and with no windows in the room, it was eerily dark.

" **…H** **̛mh** **̴m,** **͞ we** **͠l̀c** **̵ome** **̡ t** **͞o** **͝my ́manor** **͟…** " Golden irises flashed in the darkness. Moments later, the lights slowly came back on, and a young man hovered in the air before them, smirking down at them all. Orrie had to give him props: he looked exactly like the Dreambender he always imagined. Cool demeanor, elegant black suit, velvety wings, floating top hat, inhuman gold irises, and an air of dangerous mystery about him. Orrie could see from the corner of his eye the other guests' reactions. They ranged from stunned disbelief to mild amusement, the latter mostly sported by Siegfried and Dipper.

In fact, Mr. Connolly stepped up to the figure, a smile of familiarity on his face. "I must say, that's a better entrance than last time, Mr. Dreambender. Glad to see you haven't lost your touch."

'Alcor'—because Orrie was well aware this was an actor—blinked once before grinning himself. " **Oh, I** **̶̡re** **͡member y** **̴o** **͏u** **̨, Sie** **͏g** **̡fried** **̕ Conno** **̶lly. Y** **̧ou c** **̵am** **͏e** **̶v** **̧ery c** **̷lose to** **̧so** **̵lving my ̀mýs** **̴ter̀y** **̵ last time.** " His grin grew, mocking. " **But you d** **͝idn't quite ma** **͡ke** **͟ it.** "

"Sadly, no. But you're in better luck this time around. We have ourselves some very bright detectives to help solve your mystery. Assuming you don't scare them off, that is." At that, 'Alcor' smiled mischievously at the youngest members, and Orrie couldn't stop himself from being just a tad unnerved. Dipper, on the other hand, burst into giggles.

"Oh come on! Are we supposed to be scared? You don't even look like Alcor!" Belle elbowed him in the side, earning a small wince from him.

"Dipper!" she hissed.

"Well, he doesn't. Look. Where are the claws? The sharp teeth? The pointy ears? I've seen better cosplayers of Alcor at TwinCon. And he does not smile that much."

Did it really matter? Yes, the actor had some things off—even Orrie had noticed that—but it wasn't like anyone was trying to prove he was the real deal. This was all just part of the gig. Orrie supposed Dipper could simply be a more passionate fan of the Alcor legends, taking some offense that the professionals weren't getting even the small details correct.

"Though you got everything else more or less correct," Dipper finished. 'Alcor', his grin falling, huffed and straightened his coat. Orrie spotted the small wings peeking from behind his back flutter with the movement. Evidently, Dipper spotted them too. "Let me guess– attached by wire through the back of the sleeve? Cool trick, but the wings should be further down."

" **An** **̷d h** **͢o** **͡w** **̕w** **͢o** **͢ul̀d** **͝y** **͡ou** **̷k** **͟n** **͞o** **͢ẁ so m** **̨uch a** **̢bout** **̛ _my_ appe** **̧ár** **̢anc** **̕e** **͏?** " 'Alcor' growled, lowering down to lean over Dipper. Dipper shrugged.

"I read a lot," was the smooth reply.

" **T** **̧h** **͢en** **͞ perha** **̵p** **̷s you've** **̢read** **̢ th** **̛a** **͢t Í can** **̵ alter** **͠ m** **͢y** **̷a** **̧p** **̕pe** **̴a** **͢r** **̨anc** **͡e** **̢ t** **͝o** **̶m** **̛a** **̧k̀e myself̀ not l** **͡o** **̶o** **͞k** **̴ ve** **͡ry frigh** **͏t̀e** **̷ning̀. Mayb** **͡e I** **̡ d** **̨idn** **̧'t ẁan** **̢t ́t** **̧o** **̵ terri** **̷f** **͏y potentíàl m** **͏or** **͝tals w** **̢ho dec** **̢i** **̕de** **͝to come** **̨to** **͢my m** **̧anor** **̛ and** **͞ śo** **̷lve i** **̧ts m** **̛ystery** **͞.** "

Belle very hastily slapped her hand over her brother's mouth before he could so much as inhale a retort. "So what's the mystery exactly? I'd like to hear more about it."

"Same here," Orrie agreed a little too emphatically, grateful for the change in topic. 'Alcor' looked more than eager for an excuse to ignore the brazen teen.

" **W** **̴hat** **͞?** **̧ Yo** **͞u** **͏ have** **̶n'̀t h** **̴eard** **̶̕ i** **͡t** **̛?** **̷** " He shook his head, as if ashamed by their ignorance. " **Mak** **̢es m** **͠e w** **͡on** **̶der** **͏why** **͞y** **͞o** **̷u're ́here** **͞.** **̕ A** **̵s i** **̡t** **̕s̀t** **͟ands, I** **̢do** **̵n** **̴ee** **̕d śome** **͞ he** **͡lp** **̵, s** **̵o I ́suppos** **͝e I'** **̧ll have t** **̡o inf** **̷or** **̕ḿ you.** " He clapped twice, and the lights dimmed again, though they didn't go out. Dipper, still with his mouth covered, rolled his eyes.

'Alcor' began the tale, the synthetic reverb in his voice toned down so they could understand him better. " **You s** **̨ee, this** **̵ ma** **̛nor** **̡͞ ẁa** **̛s** **͝n't** **͏ o** **̕r** **̷íg** **̴ina** **͟lly m** **͠i** **̡n** **͞e. I** **̡t** **̛w** **̷as b** **͏ui** **͟lt b** **̛y a** **͡group of** **͟b** **͞right, gi** **͢fted, and gr** **͏eedỳ h** **̢um** **̨a** **̕ns. Ea** **̡ch** **̧ on** **̶e so** **͢u** **͏ght** **͝͝un** **͟li** **͟mi** **̧t** **͝éd** **͡ p** **̛ow** **̢er fo** **͟r thei** **̴r own** **̕ ńefa** **͏rious n** **̶e** **̢eds, bu** **̷t** **͏, b** **̧ei** **͝ng hum** **͡ans, t** **̕h́ey h** **̵a** **͏d no** **̡ m** **̶e** **̧a** **̧n** **͠s** **̕t** **͏o** **̨́gèt** **̡it̀ ou** **̶t** **̧s** **̴ide of** **̴ a d** **̶eal wi** **͟th a d́e** **͟mon. And** **̵̴ s** **̢uc** **͞h a** **̕c** **̶ostl** **̴y dea** **̵l** **̡ it wo** **̴uld** **̷ be,** **͡too.** " He floated over to a portrait of the very manor, the yellowed paper encased by thin glass. " **T** **͞h** **͏ìs ma** **̧nor** **̴ wa** **̧s** **̧ c** **͡ons** **̢truct** **̛ed** **͏ w** **͡ít** **̵h** **̧ thé inte** **̢n** **̧t o** **͝f** **̢ca** **͞p** **̢tu** **̨rin** **͢g m** **̛e, fo** **̧rcing** **̷ me** **̴ t** **̨o co** **̛mp** **̶ly to th** **͡e** **͠i** **͢r ne** **̴eds. Its** **͠ fra** **̴mes a** **͟r** **̛e en** **͞gra** **͟ve** **͠d wit** **̨h́ an** **̷cie** **̧nt runeś. Its** **͞ walls̀ are marr** **̨ed** **̨ with** **̢ hi** **̕dd** **͢e** **͟n** **̕ wa** **̢rd** **̢s. A** **͏nd** **̨ al** **̧l th** **͏at'̀s not in** **͞clud** **̡ing** **͏t** **͏heìr** **͡ m** **͏o** **͝st** **̷̢ p** **̨ower** **͏fúl of** **̧ co** **͢nf** **̵i** **̧ne** **͢me** **͏nt t** **̡o** **̡ols** **͝.** "

" **But** **͏ some** **͡t** **̨h** **̶in** **͞g** **̵ happe** **̧n** **͡e** **̧d** **͞t** **̨he nig** **͏ht ̀** **͡b** **̢e** **͠fore they** **̢tri** **͠ed̀ t** **̨o** **̶ capt** **͠ur** **̧e** **́͡ m** **̵e** **̷. An** **͠d** **͝ I** **͝'** **̶m no** **͟t** **̕ s** **̧ure** **̡͡ what. All** **͟ I do kno** **̷w** **͟ i** **̷s** **̧ t** **̷h** **̷a** **͟t six o** **͞f th** **̨e** **͞sev** **̶e** **̡n** **̷ h** **̡u** **̧ma** **̕n** **̶s w** **̛er** **̵e** **͡ mu** **̢rdered, the** **̕͏ s** **͞ev** **̢e** **̵nt** **̧h** **͞fleein** **͢g** **͏f** **̵r** **̷om th** **̴i** **͏s pla** **̨ce be** **͏fo** **͏re the** **͟y** **̨́ cou** **̵l** **̕d ̀** **̛be** **͝arrestéd. W** **͞hy? I** **͏ h** **͟ave** **̷ m** **̨y suspic** **̢io** **͞ns** **̵, aś** **̕ I'm su** **̢r** **̢e yo** **̛u d** **̧o as** **̡ w** **̢el** **̶l. B** **̷ut** **͞͝who** **͝exactl** **͢y? I ca** **̶n't t** **̡éll yo** **͠u, a** **̡nd t** **̵ha** **̵t** **͢'s** **̶ w** **͝h** **̴a** **͏t** **̕I w** **͞ant for you t** **̵o s** **͏olve. T** **͠he ide** **͢n** **̧tity** **̷ of the s** **̡ev** **̛e** **̷n** **͟pe** **̧ople** **̷ wh** **̧o** **͢ tried** **̷ to captuŕe me** **̡an** **̢d ́t** **͠he** **͟c** **̴u** **͢l** **͢pr** **̛it béhind** **̵͏ th** **̶e murder** **͞s** **͡. Do t** **͞hat** **̡ àn** **̧d** **̴ I'l** **̛l o** **̷ffe** **͠r** **͝y** **̕o** **̴u** **̢ a g** **͡e** **͏n** **̕e** **̴ro** **̡us rewa** **͢r** **̵d** **̡ f** **̛or y** **̢our tr** **̶o** **͏uble** **̶s.** "

"That seems fair," Cliff said, rising to his feet. "A luxurious stay _and_ the chance to win a million dollars in return for solving a mystery even Alcor can't. I'm ready for this."

"Me too!" added Zahia.

"Of course you know where I stand," commented Siegfried, pointedly ignoring the accusing glare 'Alcor' was giving him.

"These youngsters sound so excited, honey," Jillian said to her husband, who nodded in agreement. "We wish you all the best of luck."

"A million dollars? You know, I'm starting to appreciate coming now," Dug muttered.

"We can totally solve this, bro." Belle and Dipper were sharing mirroring grins.

"I'm ready for a challenge," Orrie chimed in.

"As am I," Flynn spoke out.

'Alcor' chuckled. " **Goo** **̵d** **̧͟ to** **͏he** **͏a** **̡r. B** **̴eca** **͟use** **͏a** **͡͞ ch** **͞a** **͢ll** **̴enge i** **͟s wh** **̛at** **̡ t** **̛his** **͞'ll b** **͟e. Y** **̢o** **̷u ha** **̷v** **͞e** **̵ u** **͝n** **̧ti** **̴l** **̶ n** **̶oon of the** **͡ th** **͢ird** **̢ da** **͠y t** **̷o s** **̷olve th** **͟e** **̛ my** **͏sterý. If you** **̡ ma** **͡na** **͡ge to succeed** **̵, the pr** **̵ize is yours** **͞, th** **̨ough** **͢͡ thos** **̷e wor** **͝ki** **̛ng i** **̛n** **̷ gr** **̴o** **̵up** **̴s will h** **̷av̀e to sp** **̴lit it. If** **͢none** **͞ o** **͟f yo** **̨u c** **͡a** **͟n sol** **͢ve the** **̷͟ m** **̷y** **̢s** **͠t** **̢er** **̧y** **̧ by tha** **̛t time** **̶ t** **͡h** **͡e** **͟n yo** **̡u l** **̷e** **͞a** **̷v** **̴e w** **̷it** **̨h nothin** **͡ǵ. D̀ea** **̨l?** " Blue fire engulfed his hand.

"Deal." Cliff answered for them all, stepping forward to shake the proffered hand. He looked a little nervous when the fire wrapped around his own hand, but didn't say anything.

" **P** **͞e** **̕rf** **͏e** **̧ct** **͞. I'l** **͞l** **͏ l** **̢e** **̕av** **͠e t** **̕he hou** **̕se** **̛ke** **̧e** **̛p** **̧e** **̨rs** **͏ to get** **͏ yo** **̛u a** **͞ll s** **̶et** **̧tled into y** **̷ou** **̧r r** **̵oo** **͠ms** **̨. In th** **̴e me** **͏antíme** **͠, good** **̶͟ luck** **̶.** " And with that the lights flickered again, turned out completely for less than a second, and 'Alcor' was gone.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed twelve.

The doors reopened and Ms. Wheatly stepped inside, holding several white envelopes. "These are for you. They're where you'll be sleeping during your stay." She handed one to each of the primary guests. Orrie took his, noting the masterful penmanship of the calligraphy. 'Orso Walter' it read. He opened it to find a tiny slip of paper inside. All that was on it was a single word: 'Keller'.

"Please, come with me. Your rooms are upstairs. I'll guide you to them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

Orrie walked down the east wing of the manor with his strip of paper in hand. He passed several doors with names written on them. “Sarkozy…Jans…oh, Keller.” His room was second from the end on the left side. Turning the knob, Orrie stepped inside.

The room was fit for royalty. The ceiling was high with a pretty crystalline chandelier hanging in the center. The king-size bed was lined with white, fluffy pillows and framed with silky light-brown curtains. On the other side of the fairly large room were a small walk-in closet and a tiny washroom. Around the room were other pieces of furniture, a dresser and full-length mirror to name a few. Orrie dropped his belongings by the side of his bed, taking a moment to let everything sink in.

He was actually at the Manor of Alcor, picked against all odds to solve its mystery. He managed to befriend (at least he hoped) three people already. Smiling widely to himself, Orrie pulled out a sketchbook and pencil from his backpack, flipping it to the first available page not filled with miscellaneous scribbles and doodles. Concentrating, he began to sketch an outline of the mansion, taking notes and adding details to the rooms already visited or seen. There was the parlor room, the foyer, and the east wing where the bedrooms were located. They passed several other rooms and halls, of course, but he hadn’t yet seen where they led. There was still so much to explore– judging by the building’s size and what he’d seen, he hadn’t even covered a tenth of the whole area.

There was a knock at the door. Looking up from the last of his drawing, Orrie answered it. “Yes?”

“May I come in?” someone asked. Orrie put away his belongings and went to open the door. On the other side was Cliff, no Zahia in sight. “Hey there. Just wanted to know if you want to have lunch with us. Many of the others are heading out now to enjoy some barbecue.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’d love to,” Orrie answered, stepping outside. He followed Cliff down the hall. “But, um, aren’t we supposed to be solving a mystery soon?”

Cliff waved off his words. “That can wait a bit, don’t ya think? I mean, none of us really know each other very well, and this is the perfect opportunity to talk to one another. I’m sure afterwards we’ll all go our own ways to solve the mystery, but until then we should all relax and enjoy ourselves.” Orrie couldn’t argue with that. They traversed through a few halls and a magnificent kitchen with a dining nook, spotting the old couple—the Tosettis, if what Orrie read on their envelope was correct—making their steady way to the back door. Cliff held the door open for them, which they were quite thankful for, and the four of them went into the yard where the housekeepers and some of the guests were all hanging about.

It was bright and sunny, and Orrie regretted not bringing along some swim trunks so he could enjoy the pool. If he really wanted to, though, he could always just dip his feet into the cool water like Zahia was doing, several white lotuses floating daintily around her legs. Belle, Dipper, and Dug were sitting at the table, watching some game show on an outdoor TV connected to the wall. Orrie looked around, noticing a few people missing.

“Where’s Flynn? And Mr. Connolly?”

“Siegfried was busy looking for clues already,” Cliff answered, taking a seat next to Dug. “I have no idea where Flynn is. Probably wandering around himself.” While a bit disheartened he wouldn’t be joining them, Orrie still enjoyed his time with the others through talk and games, even watching and cheering Dipper on as he, Dug, and Zahia took part in a grilled-burger eating contest. They heard the story of how the Tosettis met and saw the pictures of the Lionharts’ wedding from two weeks ago. In return, Orrie showed them all photos of his family stored on his phone.

“Oh, you get your lovely hair from your father, I see,” Mrs. Tosetti exclaimed, “When did you both decide to dye it?”

“What? Oh no, it’s natural for us,” Orrie said, subconsciously fingering his blond hair streaked with strands of royal blue. “We’ve got Kinnara or something like that on dad’s side of the family. See? My cousin’s is green.”

“I wish my hair was blue,” mused Belle, “Or– no, purple! No, I’d want it to have, like, a rainbow of streaks!” Dipper just smiled, rolling his eyes at his twin.

Hours later, when the mosquitoes proved to be too much, they went back inside. Not even one minute after the last person entered the kitchen a housekeeper walked up to them. “I’m sorry to bother you at this time,” she apologized, “But Ms. Wheatly would very much like to speak with you all right now. She’s in the parlor room. If you’d be so kind.” And she bowed and left the kitchen. The group of eight made their way toward the parlor. Entering once more, Orrie spotted Flynn and Siegfried already inside. He split off from the others.

“Sorry you missed the gathering in the back yard. We were all outside hanging out. Cliff said he couldn’t find you.”

Flynn didn’t seem perturbed. “I was in the library while you were all outside. Figured I might see if there was a clue hidden in one of the books there.”

“Wouldn’t that be a bit cliché if it were?”

“Perhaps.” That was all he could say before Ms. Wheatly scuttled into the room, closing the doors behind her.

“Apologies for interrupting your activities, but may I be so bold in asking how committed you are in solving the mystery of this manor? The Master is growing a bit impatient that none of you has found the first clue yet.”

“We’re serious,” assured Siegfried, crossing his arms, “Just some more than others. Besides, we only just arrived some hours ago. And some of us here don’t know how to hunt for clues.” Every time Siegfried spoke it was like he was in on the act. Which Orrie didn’t mind at all because that meant he could hurry the process along for them learning what they needed to do. And indeed Ms. Wheatly nodded in agreement to his words.

“I see. So you don’t know how to search for clues. In that case I’ll tell you. Listen closely. In this mansion there are a total of seven clues you need to find to solve the mystery. For all but one of the clues you will first need to find a key. The locations of these clues and keys can be deduced through the numerous hints scattered around the house.”

“What kind of hints?” Zahia asked, “They’re not super hard puzzles, are they?”

“Nursery rhymes,” Ms. Wheatly answered, “In the form of a riddle. Solve the riddle and you’ll find the key or clue. But I must inform you that not all keys are in the same room as their corresponding clue. The same goes for hints.”

The guests gave varying remarks of understanding. “So hints lead to clues or to keys that unlock clues,” Dipper clarified.

“Correct. But finding the hint is no easy task. Here, I’ll help you search for your first hint.” And then she made quite a show looking around. Exaggerated motions of opening cabinet doors and gazing all around its interior, of ruffling pillows and examining every inch of them, or checking underneath every single piece of furniture. Silly as it looked it did tell Orrie one thing: the hints would not be in obvious places.

“Oh! What do you know?” As if to prove his theory, Ms. Wheatly, while moving aside some books on a shelf a little too enthusiastically, knocked a bust of an old man over. Beneath the marble statue was a hole– the bust was hollow. Ms. Wheatly reached inside and pulled out a tiny brown scroll, beckoning the guests over to her. Orrie was able to read it as she unfurled the paper:

 

“ _Buried atop Old Smoky._ ”

 

He blinked. Old Smoky? Like ‘On Top of Old Smoky’? So were all the hints based on classical Pre-Transcendence nursery rhymes? Depending on which rhymes were used this mystery might be a little harder to solve than he thought.

“What’s Old Smoky?” Cliff asked, “Sounds like a volcano’s name.”

“Very close,” Ms. Wheatly smiled as she put the scroll in her pocket. “A mountain. Based on the old nursery rhyme ‘On Top of Old Smoky’. Does anyone know how the first part of the rhyme goes?” Orrie refrained from raising his hand, wanting to know if anyone else was familiar with the song. Nobody spoke up. “I’ll tell you then. ‘On top of Old Smoky, all covered in snow’. That’s the line. Now where or what resembles a mountain with snow on top of it?”

She let the guests explore the room themselves. Orrie saw from the corner of his eye Siegfried step away from the party. To anyone who knew his little secret they’d perhaps assume he didn’t want to give the answer right away, and to those who didn’t he looked like someone who’d rather have others do the work. But the look in his eyes implied otherwise. He was watching them. Judging them in their ability to deduce. Orrie hadn’t solved the hint yet, but there was no way he was going to let the man assume he was on to him, so he opted to look around a lamp with a white lampshade over it.

It was Dug who finally figured it out. And by complete accident too. “Whoops! Didn’t mean to!” he hurriedly said, grabbing the fishtank in the corner he nudged off its stand. He straightened the box up before all its contents, inhabitants, and the items on top of it could spill over onto the floor. He sighed with relief before blinking his eye at the tank. “Wait…is that Old Smoky?” He pointed to one of the little plastic decorations inside. Orrie had already seen the aquarium that was designed like multiple biomes had merged into one, but even he overlooked the small toy that looked exactly like a snow-capped mountain.

“Buried atop Old Smoky you say?” Dug shuffled through the items resting on top of the tank, most of them folded newspapers. It was between two newspapers that a piece of a third slipped out. Dug caught it before it landed on the floor. The piece of paper was significantly older than the rest, browner and far more wrinkled. Dug had to squint to read its faded text.

Ms. Wheatly stepped over to him. “Would you like me to read it for you?”

“Yeah please.” He handed her the paper. She cleared her throat, and everyone paid close attention as she read the article:

 

“ _Six Found Dead, Suspect At Large_

_Police responded to a silent alarm early Friday morning. The bodies of six victims were found scattered inside an unaddressed mansion miles outside the city limits. Investigators believe the victims were all members of an illegal cult as only two of the victims had visible injuries. It is presumed a seventh cult member was the perpetrator and fled the scene. The identities of the victims have not yet been revealed at this time._ ”

 

Dipper crossed his arms. “That wasn’t very helpful as a clue. But I can’t say this exercise wasn’t informative. Thanks for showing us the ropes on how to look for hints.”

“And who to keep an eye out for,” Belle teased, pushing Dug gently, “We may have ourselves a Sherlock in our midst.” Dug blushed faintly.

“I’m so happy to have helped,” Ms. Wheatly said, beaming. “Now you only have six more clues to find. I’ll leave this one right here in case any of you wish to read it again. If you need any more help just come find me. But first I must help prepare dinner.” She guided everyone to the doors, closing them shut behind them once they left.

A sudden grumble made them all look around. “Hrm, I’m still hungry,” Dug moaned, patting his belly.

“But you ate twelve hamburgers,” said Zahia, eying him incredulously, “I couldn’t even eat half that and I still feel a bit nauseous.”

Dug shrugged. “Can’t be helped. I guess I’ll check to see if there’re any leftovers I can have.”

“I wouldn’t mind a quick bite to eat myself,” said Flynn, “May I join you?”

“Sure. Don’t see why not?”

“I’d like to get started looking for the clues,” Dipper stated, turning toward his sister. She nodded in agreement.

“I think I’m going to take a quick rest before dinner, dear,” Mr. Tosetti said to his wife.

“I want to relax a bit too,” Zahia wrapped an arm around Cliff’s waist. Her husband hugged her back with one arm.

“Yeah. We’ve got all the rest of the day to find hints. Let’s enjoy our honeymoon a little longer.” He playfully bopped her on the nose before leading them toward the stairs. After quick deliberation, Orrie decided to follow them and the Tosettis. He was not, however, expecting Siegfried to come along.

“Are you taking a break too, Mr. Connolly?”

“I may as well. The remaining hints, keys, and clues won’t be hidden until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So the rest of the day is just for us to, I don’t know, relax?” _Let us familiarize ourselves with our environment_ is what he wanted to say, but the less he made Siegfried suspicious of how serious he was in solving the mystery the less he’d have to worry about him. There was just something off about the man. Siegfried nodded.

“Precisely. Also, I wouldn’t get very comfortable with the idea of Ms. Wheatly helping us on the case.” Orrie looked ahead to make sure the Lionharts and Tosettis weren’t listening in before slowing his pace to walk beside Siegfried.

“Why not?” he whispered. Siegfried gave him a curious glance before opting to reveal his knowledge to the boy.

“Alcor is going to get a little impatient with us tonight and eliminate her as a means to encourage us to search faster.” Orrie looked up at him, horrified, but Siegfried chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’s all an act. The scene will be very convincing, though.”

Orrie nodded. “Okay then…” He wasn’t sure if he should feel impressed on how realistic the staff was going to make this an authentic murder mystery or unnerved. Maybe unnervingly impressed. He smiled at that silly musing before splitting from the group and heading into his room.

* * *

That evening—after dinner and while Orrie was lying content on his bed, drawing in his sketchbook—there was a loud shriek from downstairs. There were soon the sounds of footsteps racing down the hall and, while aware of what was probably going on, Orrie couldn’t help peeking his head out in curiosity. Cliff followed closely by Zahia rushed down the stairs. Orrie hurried after them. He caught up with the couple quickly enough and wordlessly the trio burst through the doors to the parlor. Everyone save the Tosettis were already present. And everyone included ‘Alcor’.

He was standing over a very realistic corpse of Ms. Wheatly, which was face-down in a growing pool of red liquid. Strips of clothing lay tattered beside it. Ripped pillows and bloody papers were strewn around, hinting of the struggle that transpired. Zahia gasped, hand over her mouth. Dipper and Belle stood frozen, barely able to believe what they were seeing. Dug looked ill, moving as far away from the body as possible. Siegfried seemed uncomfortable but stayed where he was at by the doors. Flynn was glaring at the perpetrator.

‘Alcor’ stared back, amused smile on his lips. “ **Y** **͟** **ou a** **̸** **ll** **̴** **̢** **see** **̕** **m** **a** **̷** **b** **̨** **it u** **̸** **p** **̸** **s** **͠** **et** **͠.** ” He spotted the latecomers. “ **I** **d** **̕** **id** **̸** **n** **̷** **’t** **̨** ******th** **͟** **ink** **̴** **s** **͢** **he’d caus** **͏** **e t** **͢** **ha** **̨** **t** **̨** **m** **̢** **uch** **̧** **of a** **̷** **c** **̸** **ommo** **̕** **t** **̶** **ion** **͝.** ” Flynn flashed a glance back at Orrie before clenching and unclenching his jaw. When he spoke, though, it was with collected calmness.

“Why did you feel the need to do this? You are aware there are children present.” Orrie hoped Flynn wasn’t insinuating he couldn’t handle a little violence. Granted, murder wasn’t ‘a little’ violent, but considering who the star of the attraction was _and_ the fact they were supposed to be solving a murder mystery in the first place…

‘Alcor’ chuckled. “ **W** **̷** **hy? Be** **̡** **ca** **͠** **us** **͟e** **yo** **̛** **u** **̵** **’re** **͏** **t** **̨** **aki** **͟** **n** **͡** **g** **̸** **to** **̧** **o lon** **̸g.** ” He rose into the air, settling into a cross-legged sit. “ **D** **̛** **on’t** **̡** **t** **̴** **h** **** **i** **** **nk I** **̶** **h** **̨** **a** **̛** **d** **** **n’** **͢** **t not** **̶** **iced** **M** **͠s. W** **̡** **hea** **͡** **t** **͠** **ly** **̡** **hel** **͡** **p** **̢** **i** **̨** **n** **̵** **g** **y** **͝** **ou o** **̛** **ut** **̡** **ea** **̧** **rlie** **͠r. He** **͝** **r** **͠** **as** **͡** **s** **** **i** **̧** **st** **͢** **ance w** **͡** **as** **͝** **no** **̶** **t par** **̵** **t** **̨** **o** **͠** **f t** **** **he dea** **̢** **l** **̧. B** **̢** **ut** **I dec** **͠** **ide** **͞** **d to** **** **let it** **̡** **s** **̢** **l** **͢** **ide** **…unti** **l** **͝** **I noti** **̨** **c** **̨** **ed** **how littl** **̨** **e h** **͞** **e** **͢** **ad** **̢** **w** **̵** **a** **͠** **y** **̕** **th** **̷** **e ten** **** **of** **̛** **yo** **̡** **u** **̨** **were** **̡** **ma** **̷** **king. So** **̴** **I** **͡ go** **̵** **t r** **̵** **id** **̵** **o** **͏** **f h** **͠** **er.** ”

“Wait, we were taking too long to solve the mystery with her help, so you decided to kill her?” Belle frowned. “What kind of sense does that make?”

“ **Why** **̶** **do** **͠** **e** **͡** **s** **̷** **i** **** **t** **̵** **͟** **ha** **̢** **v** **͟** **e to** **̡** **m** **** **ake** **̡** **s** **͢** **e** **̨** **n** **̴** **s** **̛** **e?** ” asked ‘Alcor’, “ **I** **̷** **ex** **̸** **pected** **̛** **͠** **y** **͡** **ou to** **̢** **̷** **t** **̢** **a** **͟** **k** **̵** **e t** **** **h** **̨** **e mys** **̷** **t** **̕** **er** **̡** **y** **͞** **se** **͟** **riou** **͞** **sly, s** **̸** **olv** **̶** **e it** **͏** **q** **͠** **u** **̵** **ickl** **** **y, and** **͠ yo** **̷** **u d** **͏** **i** **̛** **s** **͢** **app** **̕** **ointed** **̸** **m** **̶e. I** **̴** **s** **͞** **i** **͏** **t** **͠** **tha** **̡** **t muc** **** **h** **̛** **a su** **̷** **rp** **̸** **rise** **** **I too** **̷** **k** **̢** **out** **̶** **m** **** **y** **̡** **f** **͏** **r** **̨** **ustra** **͢** **t** **͢** **i** **** **on on** **͡** **o** **͟** **n** **̶** **e** ******̕** **of m** **** **y s** **͠** **erv** **̡** **an** **͞** **t** **̶** **s wh** **̛o, in** **͡** **c** **͡** **ident** **̧** **all** **̵y, h** **͠** **app** **͟** **en** **͠** **s t** **̕** **o** **̶** **b** **̛** **e** **̴** **th** **̵** **e o** **** **n** **̸** **ly** **̵** **o** **̷** **n** **̵** **e** **͏** **he** **̶** **lping y** **̨** **o** **̡** **u al** **̕** **ong** **̧?** ” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “ **Th** **̴** **is is** **͏** **a** **͞** **ll y** **̧** **o** **͞** **ur f** **̡** **au** **̸** **lt** **̨, y** **̧** **o** **̷u** **͡k** **̡** **now. S** **̷** **he** **̢** **c** **̷** **ou** **̢** **ld hav** **̴** **e liv** **̶** **ed. B** **̢** **ut, a** **̨** **l** **̴** **as** **͡, yo** **͏** **u lo** **̧** **st** **** **y** **̴** **ou** **͠** **r** **̨** **t** **̷** **r** **̛** **ue** **͏** **l** **** **over** **͡** **fo** **̡** **r** **** **c** **̢** **ourtin** **͡** **g** **to** **o** **̷** **slow** **͠. M** **y** **͡** **s** **͞** **u** **̸** **g** **̨** **gestion? Hu** **** **r** **** **ry i** **͠** **t** **̕** **u** **p.** ”

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you do it?” Dipper narrowed his eyes at the person above him, the challenge in his tone heavy. Orrie felt a chill in the air; the teen’s anger was nearly tangible. “You’re so all-knowing, huh? Why don’t you use your omniscience to solve this stupid mystery yourself? I’m sure you could do it in an instant instead of toying with human lives.” He looked down at Ms. Wheatly; his face was unreadable. Belle, clearly troubled by her brother’s outburst, touched his arm.

“Dipper?”

His head whipped around toward her, his eyes widening slightly like he just remembered she was there. He again stared at the body on the ground before shaking his head. “Sorry. Forgot this was all an act. Just looked really…convincing.” He directed his leer towards ‘Alcor’ who, for once, didn’t look smug. “You know, I remember Alcor being someone who hated human sacrifices. Killing innocents because he was mildly upset was not his M.O. Only the worst of imposters would have gotten that tidbit wrong.”

‘Alcor’s’ eye twitched, indignation flashing in his sharp gaze. “ **P** **̷** **er** **̢** **h** **͡** **aps** **̧** **I** **̢** **a** **** **m not** **̸** **a** **** **s al** **̡** **l-pow** **̶** **e** **̨** **rful** **̶** **as** **͠** **yo** **̧** **u** **̕** **l** **̨** **ik** **͝** **e** **** **to** **̷** **be** **͠** **lieve,** ” he growled. “ **N** **** **o** **͝** **r** **̸** **as** **̶** **m** **̵** **agn** **̶** **a** **̡** **ni** **̵** **m** **̸** **ous. B** **u** **̛t…** ” He hovered closer to Dipper, nearly face-to-face with the boy. “ **I** **̴** **f you** **̢** **k** **̵** **eep te** **͝** **s** **̵** **ti** **** **ng m** **͡** **y pa** **** **ti** **̨** **enc** **͝e, D** **̶** **ipper S** **͏** **t** **͟** **erl** **̨** **in** **̵** **g** **̛, o** **̡** **ne wo** **̴** **n’t** **ne** **͝** **e** **̡** **d o** **͠** **mn** **̛i** **sc** **͡** **i** **͏** **e** **͡** **n** **͠** **ce t** **̷** **o fi** **͢** **g** **͡** **ure ou** **̷** **t** **͏** **͏** **wh** **͡** **o** **k** **̸** **i** **̴** **lle** **͞** **d ou** **̢** **r** **̸** **n** **̧** **ex** **̛** **t** **̢** **͠** **p** **̧** **oten** **͠** **t** **͢** **ial** **͝** **vi** **** **ct** **** **i** **͠m.** ” He snapped his fingers and Dipper was lifted right off his feet. The teen, completely taken aback, was too bewildered to fight the invisible force holding him. Another snap and he was thrown across the room, crashing into the opposite wall with a heavy _thump!_ Everyone stood shocked by the action; Belle was the only one with enough sense to run over and check on her twin.

“Dipper!”

Her shout stirred Orrie to face ‘Alcor’, to call him out on his trick that went way too far. But when he turned ‘Alcor’ was gone. Beside him he heard Flynn curse in a weird language. “Where did he go?” he heard the elf mutter lowly.

The doors flew open, and two housekeepers rushed inside, one of them carrying a tarp. Cliff grabbed one of them by the arm. “Hey! This is getting a little—”

“Please sir,” the housekeeper interrupted, “We’ve got this under control.”

“You’ve angered him enough,” the other worker added, laying the tarp over the corpse. Orrie watched as the sheet’s pure white was slowly consumed by the absorbing red. “Just do what the Master has asked. Please go and solve the mystery quickly. We’ll take care of this.”

“Come on, Orrie.” Orrie felt strong hands pushing him out. Cliff stubbornly kept his sight away from the bloody mess as he guided the boy away. Zahia starred at her husband, worried.

Behind him, Orrie could hear Flynn speaking tersely with one of the housekeepers. “Quite graphic” were the only words he managed to overhear before being escorted outside. Siegfried and Cliff then herded everybody else upstairs.

“That looked scary real,” Zahia mumbled to Cliff, who nodded.

“Thought this would be a bit more family-friendly,” her husband agreed.

“Perhaps that’s just how their script was written.” The others looked at Siegfried. “That was almost the same scene they played out last time, and there weren’t any children present then. I’ll admit, though, they didn’t use magic on the guests.”

“Which was completely uncalled for,” Belle angrily spoke. To her brother and with a lot more concern, “You alright?”

“Well, I’ve been a whole lot worse,” he chuckled humorlessly. But Orrie could still sense the resentment around him.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Dipper. I think it’s illegal for them to actually hurt their guests. Perhaps they overdid it with the effects.”

“Perhaps.” Though Dipper didn’t look convinced. “And maybe you’re right. That was some low level magic he used. I really wasn’t that hurt.” Orrie sighed internally with relief. The party made it to the east wing. As they dispersed to their rooms, mostly gotten over what had happened, Orrie finally mustered the courage to ask the twins a question.

“Um…I know it’s kind of in bad taste to ask this now after, well, you know…but can I team up with you? For the mystery?” Belle and Dipper stared at him, a bit confused.

“You mean after what that jerk did to my bro you still want to go through with this?” Belle wondered, though she at least didn’t sound very offended. Orrie felt his face redden.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but yeah. I’m not interested in the prize and, to be honest, the acting is a bit over the top. I came here to have fun and enjoy myself. It’s another piece of Alcor I can learn about, and that’s exciting to me.”

Dipper nodded, his expression finally brightening somewhat. “I know what you mean. That challenge you just can’t ignore. Like a puzzle that needs to be solved and answers that need to be discovered.” He smiled. “Yeah! Let’s team up. We’re here to have fun after all– to learn about Alcor and solve an unsolvable mystery.” He held out his hand. Orrie took it, gripping firmly, his own smile broadening. Belle wrapped her arms around both of their necks.

“Alright! Nerds unite!”

Orrie laughed. “Well, we can start looking for clues in the morning. Siegfried secretly told me the hints won’t be hidden until tomorrow.”  
  
“Oh! So that’s how he knew what was going on,” realized Belle, “He’s been here before. Wait! Doesn’t that mean he has the advantage? He knows where all the hints are!”

“I’m going to assume the hints change locations each time guests come,” Dipper reasoned, and Orrie agreed. He bade them goodnight before entering his own room.

The sketchbook was still on his bed where he’d left it. He debated finishing the final details of what he could remember of the garden but ultimately decided against it, figuring he’d have plenty of time tomorrow. He changed out of his day clothes and grabbed something from his suitcase that was more comfortable to wear in the evening time. Sliding into bed, he looked around his room once more.

It was still just as beautiful as when he’d first entered. But…the space, the extravagance, the lingering amazement of being here…it was too foreign. Too lonesome. Orrie was familiar with it. A bit used to it. But that didn’t mean he liked it. Didn’t mean he’d admit to his new friends that he was scared to explore the entire manor all by himself. Because he liked their companionship; it was something he admittedly didn’t have a lot of back home.

Orrie settled into the sheets, wondering briefly what tomorrow would bring. For now he was comfortable and safe and had companions nearby. And in two days time, when this was all over, he’d be ending one adventure as a pre-teen and starting another by officially becoming a teenager.

Pleased by the thought, Orrie drifted contently to sleep.

* * *

Deep in the lower levels of the mansion, the man in front of the monitors smiled. His staff had pulled off yet another spectacular performance today. Mr. Goodman leaned back and stretched. With his guests full of food, sound asleep, and certainly excited for tomorrow’s mystery he could sit back and watch with ease, the greatest of the attraction’s hurdles finally crossed. It’s never easy to set a calming, relaxing air in a home blanketed with betrayal and death, but his dear employees were always up to the task of doing it, exceeding his expectations every year without fail.

He grabbed the cane by the side of his chair and used it to stand. Leaving the office, Mr. Goodman sighed to himself. Such a shame he only caught the tail end of Terry and Ms. Wheatly’s act due to helping some crew members—the realism of her death scene always unnerved even the toughest of men—but he’d be sure to congratulate them nonetheless.

And speak of the devil…

“There you are. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Terry.” The star of the attraction was standing by the costume closet. Already he was unvested from his suit, most of his make-up gone, his voice modifying mic removed. Terry looked back, a light smile on his lips.

“Oh, hey there, Mr. Goodman. You need something?” he asked as Mr. Goodman hobbled up to him, his cane clacking loudly against the stone tiles.

“Mostly to congratulate you on another great performance. It’s not natural to keep saying this but you are perhaps the best Alcor impersonator I’ve ever had the fortune to have.” He laughed. “I bet even the real one would agree, don’t you?”

“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” Terry gestured for the elder man to follow; the latter did so slowly. “You probably didn’t hear but the kitchen’s a mess after Duglas Segal requested we make him a late-night snack. We’re cancelling the staff dinner.”

But Mr. Goodman shook his head at the news. “And miss out on your friends’ cooking? For shame, Terry. You know better than to let that happen.” He and his employee chuckled at the good-humored chiding. “But,” he continued, his smile fading, “on a more serious note, Terry, I did not appreciate what you did to our guest.” He stopped walking.  
  
“Did to whom?” Terry’s attempt to look innocently perplexed did not bode well with Mr. Goodman.

“Dipper Sterling. The one you used magic on to toss against the wall.” He darkened his expression enough to tell Terry he messed up. The young man at least had the decency to look guilty. “Magic of any kind is expressively forbidden on these grounds, except in—”

“—In a case of emergency,” Terry finished, interrupting the old man. “I know, I know. But that kid was so irritating. Made me look like a fool despite all the research I’ve done on the demon. And—” He paused, noticing the leer from his boss hadn’t lessened. “And I shouldn’t have retaliated like that.”

“You shouldn’t have retaliated _at all_ ,” Mr. Goodman corrected.

A faint scowl. “…Right.” Terry, after a silent moment, took a step forward. Mr. Goodman didn’t follow. “Coming?”

“I’ll meet you in the inner chamber in a short while. I first want to congratulate Ms. Wheatly. I wonder where she went off to.”

“I heard in passing that she’s already inside the chamber. If you want to catch up with her before she heads to sleep we should probably hurry.” The other frowned. Why would she be there? She always came to see him first after her act.

“But why?” he voiced his concerns, to which Terry shrugged. So Mr. Goodman followed. He would have made it to the end of the hall, too, were it not for the muffled _thump!_ of something heavy collapsing. Mr. Goodman stopped in his walk, turning his head slightly to the side. “You hear something?”

Terry didn’t stop. “Like what?”  
  
“Sounded like something fell.” The sound of a door slowly creaking open sent his nerves tingling, sharp and echoing in the mostly empty hall. He spun around, noticing the closet door opening up to reveal a bunch of fallen costumes piling out.

Mr. Goodman hurried to the pile. “I’ll get that!” Terry, just then noticing the old man’s action, hastened over to him. But Mr. Goodman beat him, already bent and picking up the clothes. He froze when a hand caked in dried blood appeared from underneath a large shirt he’d lifted. Props had their own room, and besides he couldn’t recall ever owning a prop like this. He started to pick it up when he saw it was connected to an arm. Confusion and unease growing, he shifted the costumes away to—

“What…Terry– Terry, what is going on here!?” That was Ms. Wheatly. Bloody and dead and buried beneath the clothing. A nasty wound was torn into her front side, chunks of clotted blood still seeping out. “H-how did Ms. Wheatly end up—” He happened to look to his side. Notice the black shoes of the person beside him. Spot the smudge of equally dried blood on their tips and edges. His increasingly frightened gaze slowly lifted.

The cold fury on Terry’s normally calm face was intimidating enough for the old man. “I was hoping this’d go smoothly.” He snapped his fingers, and Mr. Goodman was lifted off the floor against his will. Terry’s scowl deepened, and with a swift flick of his fingers, the costumes and body of Ms. Wheatly were flung back into the closet. “Can’t believe dumb luck of all things cost me my cover. Doesn’t matter; I’ll have the others move her when I’m ready.”

“Others!?” Mr. Goodman’s eyes widened. Was the rest of his staff in on this? Terry smirked.

“Oh, they aren’t the ones you should be worried about. Now, why don’t you come with me to the inner chamber, hm? I’ve got big plans for you.” Mr. Goodman had no choice as he was levitated through the dark hallway, knowing full well they were too far underground for anyone to hear his cries for help.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

Orrie headed downstairs for breakfast, stifling a yawn. He entered the kitchen only mildly tired and caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye Dug sitting at the table in the nook. “G’morning,” mumbled Orrie out of courtesy. He walked right past the table and made for the cabinets. Though still fighting to wake up, he quickly located a bowl in the cabinet, rummaged briefly until he found the cereal, and snatched a spoon from the drawer before grabbing milk from the fridge and making his way back to the table. Orrie took a seat beside the cyclops and poured himself some breakfast. He began absentmindedly munching on the sugary flakes, musing silently on when he should start looking for hints. After a minute or so he glanced again at the guest, finally taking in the sight of Dug bent forward and his face deep in the bowl of fruit in front of him. Was he asleep?

“Are you okay?” Dug didn’t respond. Growing a bit concerned, Orrie leaned over and shook him.

He immediately let out an involuntary shriek and leapt to his feet, skittering back. Dug was ice cold! And his body was rigid, even after the push. Orrie’s heart was pounding and his ears ringing faintly as he tried to understand what he was staring at. Dug was…dead? This was a joke, right? He wasn’t an actor in disguise or maybe a prop placed here? Orrie begrudgingly had to give the staff of this attraction credit—they sure went all out to make this convincing. Still…something felt extremely off.

Orrie looked away when he heard footsteps approaching. “Belle? Dipper?”

“We just got downstairs when we heard a scream,” Belle said, appearing at the doorway with her brother. “We came to see if everyone was alright.” Aside from his checks flushing Orrie chose not to respond to that. Instead, he nodded towards Dug.

“He’s not moving. He hasn’t moved at all since I came in here.” The unspoken “I think he’s dead” was so obvious that, as perplexed as they were, the twins understood what he refused to utter. They came over to inspect the body, Orrie shifting to the side to give them more room. Dipper grabbed the cyclops’ wrist; Belle patted the shoulder. Her hand jerked away fast as a viper.

“He’s cold! Bro, you don’t think he’s actually dead, do you?”

“Well, he’s certainly not alive,” Dipper answered grimly, letting the arm dangle in his grasp before dropping it. The sight of it unnerved Orrie.

“And there goes my appetite,” he muttered, glancing with slight nausea at his still mostly full bowl of cereal. Belle crossed her arms. She was clearly growing unsettled.

“What, so this is real? Who and how would someone get away with killing Dug? You’d think we’d have heard something if there was a fight last night.”

“Maybe magic?” said Orrie. Belle shrugged.

“Or perhaps it’s the most obvious method,” Dipper said, gesturing toward the bowl of fruit. His sister snatched a piece of fruit before he could protest. She inspected the small berry held between her fingers.

“These don't look like the blueberries they served yesterday during lunch. Way too dark.” She rolled it around in her hand. “Not blackberries either. Black cherries? Or—wait!” Her eyes widened and she hastily threw the berry back into the bowl. “Nightshade!?”

“Nightshade?” Orrie blinked, confused. He remembered hearing about the plant once, but could recall nothing beyond its name.

“They're super poisonous. Eating just a couple can kill a human.”

Dipper nodded, frowning. “And evidently cyclopes too.” His lips quirked upward as he looked at Belle. “Also, nice to know you were listening to me during our camping trip last year.”

“Well, you wouldn't stop babbling about all the things in the woods that could kill or maim us,” grumbled his sister. While they spoke, Orrie had spotted something white poking out from beneath Dug's bowl. Grabbing hold of it, he pulled out a slip of paper and read the message on it.

“Guys, I think we just figured out ‘who’ did this.” He held up the slip with the hastily written message:  
  
“ _Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating a Christmas pie. But what thought as a treat turned out much too sweet; its plum filling’s what caused him to die._ ”  
  
Belle paled slightly. “A nursery rhyme? But why would an employee do this?”

“Do what?” The three turned around to see Siegfried walking into the kitchen. He stared at Dug’s slouched form. “Is he alright?” Then he spotted the note in Orrie's hand. “And what's that?” he asked more sternly, eyes narrowing. Orrie, Belle, and Dipper exchanged glances between each other.

“We think someone poisoned Dug with nightshade,” answered Dipper after Orrie showed Siegfried the note. “Orrie said he found him like this when he first got here. And as cold as he is he must have died sometime last night.” Siegfried scanned over the words before crossing his arms.

“I’m admittedly impressed you three know what nightshade looks like. That’s not common knowledge for children your age. However, I’m even more impressed the staff could make such a terrible blunder. There is no way this slip can go overlooked. We need to call the paramedics immediately.” And he left the kitchen before any of them could make a comment.

Belle stepped away from Dug’s body. “I don’t trust that man.”

“Me neither,” agreed Dipper, “He seems way too casual about someone’s death. And the note didn’t seem to convince him this was intentional.”

_Unless this really is an act and he’s in on it,_ Orrie thought to himself. An idea flashed in his mind. “Maybe Flynn can help us.”

“How? Give suggestions more useless than calling paramedics for a dead guy?” Orrie shook his head as Belle jabbed Dipper in the gut with her elbow, hissing, “Not. Helping.”

“He used to be a detective. Well, organized criminal investigator or something like that. Maybe he’s seen something like this before. And he’d certainly have a better idea of what we should do.” Both of the twins appeared to favor the idea.

“At least it’s a start,” Dipper admitted. “You go find him. We’ll be here and try to contact someone.” Orrie raced off the find the elf. More than likely he was still in his room. But no– climbing the stairs and rounding the corner, Orrie saw the door labeled ‘Jans’ creaked open with nobody inside. Orrie hovered by the doorway and thought. If Flynn wasn’t in his room or the dining room, where could he be this early in the morning?

_Oh._ Orrie, chuckling ever so softly, hurried back downstairs.

His hunch was right. Flynn was indeed in the library, standing near the far corner, his back to the entrance as he was clearly reading something. Despite the door being wide open Orrie knocked, garnering Flynn’s attention. The boy could see the other was holding a small scroll in his hands.

“Good morning Orrie,” Flynn greeted, the tiniest of proud grins on his face as Orrie approached. “It seems my hunch yesterday was correct.” He twisted the paper in his hands just enough so that Orrie could make out the words on it:

“ _The Itsy Bitsy Spider loves winter._ ”

His heart fluttered when he realized, excitedly, that Flynn just showed him a hint. So maybe he wouldn’t mind helping him and the twins solve the mystery. Then harsh reality reminded him why he was here.

“Flynn, something really bad happened. We think Dug is dead. He hasn’t moved at all since we found him, and he’s really stiff and cold.” The involuntary stiffening was the first sign something was wrong. The second was when the not-quite-smile rapidly dissolved off the elf’s face.

“Where is he?” In half a second Flynn had spun on his heel and was taking large, quick strides out of the room and down the hall. It took twice as long for Orrie’s brain to reconnect with his legs and force him to catch up to him. “ _Where is he?_ ”

“Uh,” Orrie fumbled for the words, caught off guard by Flynn’s sharp change in demeanor. “In the kitchen, at the table in the dining area.”

“When did you find him?”  
  
“About fifteen minutes ago, but I didn’t know anything was wrong with him at first. We told Siegfried—”

“‘We’?”

“Me, Dipper, and Belle; they came down shortly after I did. Siegfried went off to find a staff member, or at least we think he did. Dipper and Belle are still in the room, calling for help.” Flynn nodded curtly as they entered the kitchen. The twins were still there. Belle, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Dug, was staring intently at her phone, brow furrowed, fingers moving swiftly over the screen as she tried to either text or dial. Dipper stood over her, peering over her shoulder, eating the rest of Orrie’s abandoned cereal, looking likewise upset about something. They both looked up when Flynn and Orrie walked in.

“I can’t make any calls,” Belle informed them. “Something is blocking the wireless signal, and all my emergency magi-calls are being jammed completely. There’s no way to get in contact with anyone outside.” Flynn scowled, moving forward.

“Help me sit him up,” he ordered. The four easily moved the body into an upright position. Then Flynn deftly checked for any signs of life: fingers pressed lightly against neck and wrist, hand held in front of mouth and nose, ear pressed close to chest. The somber look when he pulled back effectively confirmed what the three more than already suspected. “It’s too late for him.” His gaze shifted toward the bowl of fruit. His eyes narrowed. “How long has that nightshade been there?”

“You know what nightshade looks like?” Belle asked, a bit surprised.

“Cursory knowledge of common or accessible poisons is required in my field of expertise,” he answered simply.

“Since I got down here this morning.” Flynn inspected one of the berries.

“They’re fresh, likely picked no earlier than yesterday.”

Dipper frowned. “You’re implying someone got them somewhere on the property.”  
  
“You can’t exactly buy these at a store,” was the retort. He glared at the three. “Siegfried and I were inside all of yesterday; I sporadically saw the man roaming the halls. But the rest of you…”

Belle actually looked affronted by the accusation. “We were all enjoying the barbecue. Ask any of the other guests; none of us even walked near the bushes.”

“So if not any of the guests, it had to have been a staff member,” Orrie concluded. Yet Flynn didn’t seem entirely convinced. Regardless, he asked for their assistance.

“Help me move him. He doesn’t deserve this.” Working together, the four were able to lift the body and shuffle into an adjacent room. It wasn’t too small, perhaps built to be a walk-in pantry but was left unfinished. They laid the body down in the far back corner. Flynn hurriedly exited and returned with the dining table’s large table cloth before draping it over the body as nicely as he could. They then quietly stepped out of the room, the elf closing the door gently behind them.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone though?” asked Belle in a low voice.

“Yes.” The three looked at Flynn. “The other guests need to know about this so they can be on guard. But we don’t know if this was done by one staff member or many. Whoever they are, they’re toying with us.” His expression hardened. “And yet our safest course of action is to play along until we can find some way of reaching the outside world. They want something from us, else they would have tried killing everyone while we slept.” He cast the three an odd expression, a mix of concern and guilt. “Can you three promise me you’ll stay together? We don’t know whom to trust in this manor, and I fear not all the guests may be dependable allies.”

“Promise,” the twins said practically in unison.

“Promise,” Orrie said a beat after. Flynn’s expression cleared somewhat.

“Alright. I’m going to inform the others, then I’m going to try and find a way to call the authorities and also, hopefully, discover whoever’s behind this.” He cast them another sorrowful look before leaving them.

Belle groaned, rocking back and forth on her feet ever so slightly. “Why can’t we have a normal vacation?” she muttered. “We’re stuck in a murder mystery attraction with a real killer on the loose, and we have no way of reaching the town or calling for help. Great. Perfect. Exactly how I wanted to spend my Spring Break.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” The Sterlings stared at Orrie. “Why don’t we just walk back to town? We got here by bus, so there is a road we can take.”

“I highly doubt the killer would let it be that easy for us to escape,” reasoned Dipper. “Besides, even if we could reach the road, it’s not like all of us can make the trek. The Tosettis are _really_ getting on in years.” Belle shot him a troubled if not puzzled look; Dipper merely shrugged as if there was nothing he could do about it.

Orrie sighed, now starting to see no way out of their situation. “Then I guess we do what Flynn said and keep trying to solve the mystery.”  
  
_But why does the killer want us to?_ he couldn’t help wondering. Even if by some chance this were real, what did they have to gain from the manor’s secrets?

Dipper folded his arms. “If we’ve got no other choice,” he agreed. “So where do you guys want to start searching for hints first?” Orrie then remembered the hint Flynn showed him in the library.

“Hold on, let me get my sketchbook. I’m using it to draw a map of the manor, but we can also use it to keep track of our hints and clues.”

Belle nodded. “Alright, but make it quick. We promised Flynn we’d stick together. We’ll meet you near the foyer.” Orrie left them once more to head back upstairs. For the briefest of seconds he grew terrified the killer could jump out of any hiding spot and attack the lone boy as he climbed the stairs, but the dark image faded from his mind when he remembered Flynn having no concern walking around by himself. If the elf was confident in traversing the manor alone then it should be safe for him too, right? Another indication this wasn’t as deadly as he was being led to believe.

Yeah…

Orrie reached the top landing, but before he took a step towards his room he noticed the ‘Gogh’ door creaked open. And voices were coming from inside. Creeping forward, Orrie was able to catch the last few words of someone’s speech.

“…need you to be vigilant. I’ve already told the children to stick together. If things get more dangerous we may have to confine ourselves in a safe room until help arrives.”

“Dang,” he heard Cliff breathe out, “You’re for real? I can’t imagine what they must be feeling right now. Maybe you should have told them to lock themselves in their rooms just to be safe.”

“It might have to come to that, but if the murderer suspects we aren’t up to playing their game then they might just kill them instead,” replied Flynn darkly. “We have no idea how safe any of these rooms are until we thoroughly examine them. For all we know there could be hidden rooms and pathways to spy on us. Staying in one location might make us easy targets.” Zahia didn’t say anything, only gripped Cliff’s hand tighter, silently holding back her tears. Flynn bowed his head.

“I’m refraining from informing the Tosettis about Dug’s death. The fewer people there are panicking the better our situation.”

Cliff nodded in agreement. “Besides, they’re only here to enjoy themselves. Since they’re too old to help us solve the mystery I agree it’s best we don’t worry them.” The adults didn’t say anything afterwards, so Orrie stepped back before he could be discovered. He glanced briefly at the Tosettis’ door—the one marked Lemaire—with a small frown before turning away and heading for his room. He grabbed his sketchbook and quickly scribbled down the hint Flynn had shown him.

Snatching his backpack as an afterthought, Orrie hurried back downstairs, only to stumble upon Siegfried passing by the bottom of the steps. The boy halted, but Siegfried had already spotted him.

“You seem to be in such a hurry to get somewhere.”

“I’m looking for Belle and Dipper,” Orrie replied carefully. “Did you find a staff member yet?”

“Not yet,” was the more or less flippant response, “I can’t find anyone, to be frank. You and the other two have been the only ones I’ve seen all morning. I suppose everyone else is still asleep.” Orrie only made a noncommittal noise to the statement. “You know, we really should find a way to get out of here. You’re much too young to have to be dealing with this, and I’m worried about your well-being. Truthfully, nobody here should be involved in a murder of any kind; it can leave damaging scars on the psyche. Maybe you can help me convince the other guests to run away from here. I’m sure together the nine of us could make it to the authorities.”

Orrie bit his lower lip, refraining as best he could from taking a step away from the man. “I already considered that– running away, I mean. But Dipper raised a good point: the person or people behind this won’t let us go that easily. Plus the Tosettis won’t be able to make it without help.”

“Sometimes sacrifices must be made.”

This time Orrie did take a step back, looking at Siegfried with fearful confusion. Why would he ever suggest…? “You’re joking, right?”

Siegfried tried to smile kindly. “I wish I were, and don’t believe that I’m speaking lightly. But there’s a reason we have the saying ‘the good of the many outweigh the good of the few’. You and those twins are still children– you have your whole lives ahead of you. The Tosettis are nearly at the end of theirs; they’d understand. Shouldn’t you be more worried whether you’ll get out alive?”

“I am…but…” He didn’t want to talk to Siegfried anymore; he just wanted to find Dipper and Belle and start solving the mystery if only to distract himself from the situation they all were in. “But I can’t just leave them. I want to think of a way of escaping with everyone. That’s why I’m going to try and convince my friends to help me come up with a plan to do that. But if I can’t then I’ll think about what you said.”

“Attaboy,” grinned Siegfried, stepping aside to let him reach the bottom of the stairs. Orrie nodded with what he hoped passed as a weak smile before dashing off to find the Sterlings. He left the foyer without further incident but didn’t see the two anywhere.

“Dipper? Belle?”

“Over here.” Belle was waving to him from a hallway behind him. He followed her down it and into a connecting room, staring around as she closed the door behind them. “Pretty cool, huh? This seems to be a dance studio. There’s nothing really in here, but I figured we could still use it to come up with a plan in private.”

Dipper, who seemed to be looking for something behind the giant mirror that took up the whole wall, turned when he heard them. He joined them in the center of the room. As he grabbed his sketchbook from his bag, Orrie told them about his encounter with Siegfried. “He said he wanted us to get out of the mansion, but it sounded more like he wanted us out of the way. Do you think he’d put his and our lives on the line just for the prize money?”

Belle frowned, thinking for a moment. “I wouldn’t put it past him…” she admitted. She then grinned. “So that just means we gotta keep outta his hair. As huge as this place is I’m sure we can avoid him if we try.”

Dipper looked at the page Orrie had flipped to. “Where’d you find the hint?”  
  
“Flynn actually found it. He showed me it when I found him in the library…erm, before I told him about Dug.”

“The Itsy Bitsy Spider loves winter,” Belle read. She crossed her arms and started mumbling something to herself. Eventually she said, “No, nowhere in the song does it mention winter.”

“Then maybe it’s a metaphor for something,” suggested Orrie. The three thought silently on what it could mean. Maybe they needed to find another insect that liked the cold. But such an answer wouldn’t lead toward a specific location in the house. Perhaps something a bug did when it was cold outside? Did they hibernate? Orrie supposed they did.

“I think I got it!” Dipper snapped his fingers, breaking the other two from their thoughts. “The fireplace.” Belle and Orrie stared at him blankly. “Think of the lyrics– the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout. Using Orrie’s idea of a metaphor, smoke from a lit fireplace goes up a chimney.”

“And rain coming down it would ‘wash out’ the smoke and fire,” Belle smiled, catching on. “Plus, you light a fire when it’s cold outside.”

“The parlor had a fireplace,” Orrie remembered, grabbing his sketchbook and bag. “We can check there.” The three raced for the room, taking care not to create much racket as they ran. In the parlor they scoured the fireplace, its mantle, and the logs inside. Nothing. As an extra precaution they searched the entire room, but still no clue or key. “There has to be another room with a fireplace.”

So they searched the manor once more. They peeked into many rooms—a secluded bar, a trophy room, and even a tiny observatory—and again Orrie couldn’t help but ponder how big the mansion really was. Maybe this place held other events throughout the year besides the mystery attraction.

It wasn’t until they reached what might be either an art room or gallery did they find what they were looking for. “There!” Dipper had been the first to look inside. The two followed quickly after, gazing around at the huge variety of paintings, photographs, and sculptures everywhere– even the ceiling tiles were painted with children’s artworks. Nestled in the back corner wasn’t a fireplace but rather an old stone furnace and chimney covered in cobwebs. And within the open furnace, blending in pitifully amongst the coal, was a giant black lump of clay. Dipper picked it up and shook it. “Yep. Definitely feel something inside.” After a quick signal for them to stand back, Dipper threw the clay lump at the ground. It shattered loudly into numerous pieces.

“You know we could have just smashed it with a hammer,” Belle reasoned, gesturing to said tool on a nearby counter. “Might have made a whole lot less noise.”

“This way was faster,” her twin reasoned as he bent to pick up the dirty scroll with the tiny silver key tied to it.

“Yeah right. It’d take just as much time.” Orrie only rolled his eyes at the two. He and Belle easily read the hint Dipper unfurled before him:

“ _He’d remember if he could play to seven._ ”

“Okay, so we likely need to use a counting nursery rhyme,” said Dipper. “Which do we know of?”

“How about ‘Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed’?” suggested his sister.

“Or maybe ‘One, Two, Buckle My Shoe’?” said Orrie.

“There’s also ‘Ten Little Indians’,” Dipper added. The three were left in mutual silence. There were quite a few rhymes that involved counting, so which one did they need?

“Right, so…let’s take this piece by piece,” said Belle, taking the slip of paper. “‘He’d remember’ implies we need a rhyme involving a guy of some sort. Supposedly a guy that needs to remember something.”

“So a guy who’s forgetful…” Orrie pondered. Dipper seemed deep in thought trying to recall any rhymes that fit that criteria. Belle was tapping her foot, thinking as well. Then Orrie gasped. “A guy who’s forgetful! Like an old man!”

“‘This Old Man’!” the twins chorused. “Awesome!” Belle cheered, “How do the lyrics go?” At this Orrie shrugged.

“I only remember the title and parts that repeat. It’s been ages since I heard the rhyme.”

“Ditto.”

“I know it,” Dipper said, earning relieved grins from the other two. He briefly closed his eyes as he went through the lyrics in his head. “This old man, he played seven; he played knick-knack up in heaven—”

“With a knick-knack paddywhack, give a dog a bone—” Orrie couldn’t help but chime in.

“This old man came rolling home,” Belle finished with a laugh. The three gave each other high-fives. “We are on fire! So the clue has to be in heaven.” She glanced to the ceiling. “Well, what a coinkydink.” Balanced precariously between the ornate frame and ceiling tile—a tile that was painted like the blue sky outside—was a tiny black booklet with a lock.

Grabbing a piece of the shattered clay, Belle threw it at the booklet, dislodging it just enough so that it tumbled out of its half-hidden place.

“Ow!” The clay piece fell on her brother’s head. “We could’ve found a ladder to get it.”

“Whoops! Sorry, broseph,” she apologized. She grabbed the booklet from the floor. “But this way was faster.” He glared at her.

With the key in hand, Dipper opened the locked booklet. Inside were only two sheets of paper placed behind plastic flaps. “They look like diary entries,” Orrie spoke, peering at the yellowed pages. The cursive writing was small but still legible, contrasting to Ms. Wheatly’s larger penmanship. He looked over the first of the two pages:

“ _Mr. M has made his objections to my actions perfectly clear, but so be it. My rule holds that he is not allowed to have more than one bullet loaded in his pistol at a time. The rest shall be locked away in my room where the others can't find them._

_My dear friends…we are trekking into dangerous territory. Power is something few mortals ever get to taste, and too often we become drunk off of the prospect of having it. Will do anything to obtain it. We like to believe love conquers all. Friendship forever binds. Trust will prevail. I want to believe that with all my heart. But I want to live even more so._ ”

Orrie’s brow furrowed. This could easily pass as something one of the cultists could have written. If so, then it was clear they didn’t have the highest amount of confidence in one another. But if they didn’t trust each other, then what chance did they ever have in capturing Alcor? He turned his attention to the second page:

“ _Mr. M, I never hated you. I never despised you. And I am truly heartbroken by your death. Your ‘wife’, as Mr. H would have joked, was right: We should have dealt with the Blue-Striped Arachnids long ago. Is their bite as painful as they say it is? Did you go quickly?_

_How did a spider even get outside the attic? You, Mr. M, have assured me your spell made it so none could wander out by accident. Someone had to have intentionally caught one and brought it downstairs to you…_ ”

Orrie let the clue’s secrets wash over him. That was…quite a lot to take in. Too much to simply remember. Without another word he took out his sketchbook and hastily jotted down the gist of the clue as well as its indirect revelations. Firstly, two of the cultists were named Mr. M and Mr. H, a third cultist was a woman, and a fourth wrote this entry. Secondly, whoever wrote the clue was giving off the impression that they held a pretty high rank in the group. Lastly—and most importantly—Mr. M could not have been the killer as he was killed by something called the Blue-Striped Arachnid. Orrie had absolutely no idea what that was and hoped that they had already been dealt with.

A loud gurgle caused everyone to jump. “Sorry,” moaned Belle, wrapping her arms around her stomach in some vain attempt to shush it. It gurgled again in protest. “After all this excitement, I completely forgot I haven’t eaten. I really don’t want to go back to the dining room but…” She made a half-groan, half-sigh before turning to Orrie. “You don’t mind if I get something real quick to eat?”

“Of course not,” he said; he himself was still a bit nauseous from earlier. Besides, he’d already eaten a few bites of breakfast, so he wasn’t technically running on empty. Though some food a little later wouldn’t hurt. “I’m going to stay here and add the rooms we visited to the map.”

She gave an apologetic smile. “Alright. Stay safe. You coming bro?”

“Sure thing.” Dipper followed after his sister before pausing at the doorway. “Orrie, you don’t mind if I hang onto this, do you?” Orrie blinked, his gaze drifting to the tiny book in the older boy’s hand. While he didn’t have any particular objections to Dipper holding onto it, it made more sense for him to carry it– he was wearing the backpack after all. Dipper seemed to have read his mind. “It might be problematic if Siegfried found you in possession of a clue. I promise you I can keep it well hidden from him even while we explore.”

“Uh…sure.” Why was he so hesitant? By now he trusted these two…right? Orrie hastily shook the thought out of his head. Of course he did; he pretty much had to right now. He nodded with more confidence at Dipper, who smiled and chased after his twin. Orrie watched him leave, but there remained a nagging feeling growing in the back of his mind as he did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

Orrie grinned at the completed sketch. Ignoring how some things weren’t drawn to scale, he was admittedly impressed by how much he remembered of the rooms, the hallways they passed through, and the relative lengths and distances between each of them. Maybe he should be a mapmaker when he grew up.

Silly as the thought was it didn’t entertain Orrie for long, and he was soon wondering what was taking the twins. The two had gone to get something to eat about half an hour ago, which (he had to remind himself) was a reasonable amount of time. But being alone in the manor was greatly raising his anxiety. Even without the clue on him Orrie did not fancy having another run-in with Siegfried. And then there was the staff, any one of whom could be the culprit behind Dug’s death. And that was assuming it was only one of them and not more, or even some unknown third party.

Orrie made an indecipherable noise in his throat. Now was not the time to be worrying about that– they had a mission. Solve the mystery and escape. But he wasn’t going to be doing any solving by just standing in place. _Maybe…maybe I can explore the grounds?_ Anything to give himself something to do. Calm his nerves and mind. He packed his sketchbook back into his bag and made for the mansion’s front door. The nagging sensation he’d been feeling since Belle and Dipper left grew as he walked. But he soothed it somewhat by promising himself he wouldn’t be gone long; he’d be back inside by the time they were done eating.

Stepping though the front doors the midday sun greeted him brightly. A warm breeze teasingly ruffled his hair as it blew past, and for the briefest of moments Orrie could just forget his worries. Robins chirping from the distant hedge maze, dazzling light glittering off the pool water’s surface, the faint smell of roses and tulips that lined the trimmed bushes– how could anyone suspect a greater evil here?

Orrie hurried himself down the cobblestone path, wishing to check something. He knew the others had dismissed the idea and for good reason too, but he just wanted to make certain…

“Well now we know for sure…” he muttered to himself. The gates were indeed locked as he could clearly see. Orrie paused, leaning in a bit closer. Was that—? Listening carefully he could hear a faint, steady thrum coming from the bars. Brow furrowing, Orrie bent over and picked up a tiny stone, tossing it at the gate. A loud pop followed by agitated sizzling rang out upon contact, and the charred pebble fell with a dull thud. _Magic-powered fences?_ he thought. Okay…this was going a bit far. Surely the owners would have turned this security feature off while visitors were here. Despite wanting to see just how far the fence stretched, Orrie knew he needed to get back inside. Even if it wasn’t much information he had to let Flynn, Dipper, and Belle know about the gate.

Footsteps grabbed his attention. He took an unwitting step back, twisting fully to face the hedges. Nothing moved. Only the sound of chirps continued to ring out clearly from the maze. “I-is there someone there?” Orrie called out nervously, still refusing to budge. When no words answered back he hesitated a step towards it. When still he saw nothing emerge he reasoned he’d probably misheard the noise and it’d been a deer or something. Orrie approached the neatly-trimmed maze from the side and peeked around its corner. It was empty as far as he could see.

Orrie briefly debated the chances of the murderer simply jumping out and killing him once he entered, then he reasoned the person would’ve already done so by now. He entered the maze only to find it an overly simplistic labyrinth. Two turns right, one left, and he quickly found himself at a dead end. Slightly put off that there wasn’t anything of worth here he made to leave.

But it was right when he reached the entrance again he paused, listening. It was incredibly easy to disregard but now that he thought about it he never did see any birds while in the maze, and yet not once did it let up on its song. Surely it would have gone quiet or flown away as he approached it. Berating himself for going back on his self-made promise, Orrie reentered the hedge maze, now seeking the strange bird. He scoured every inch of the bushes, slowly nearing the source of the tweets. It was roughly halfway through he noticed something brown hidden deep within the compact branches– extremely easy to overlook if you weren’t searching for it.

Sticking his hand through the maze wall, Orrie could feel it was a handcrafted nest, and inside it were a tiny device and something flimsy. The device had to be a speaker of sorts; the chirping was momentarily muffled when Orrie ran his fingers over it. As for the flimsy material—

“You have got to be kidding me.” Did fortune actually favor him? The boy hastily pulled out the hint, eagerly unscrolling it to read:

“ _How many of these go round all day long?_ ”

Orrie snorted to himself; now this nursery rhyme he could figure out. Still, where exactly was he going to find a bus? The hint couldn’t be referring to the one they rode on yesterday as it was likely long gone by now. Maybe there was another bus they needed to find, one in a garage hidden somewhere behind the manor. So…wait, no; that couldn’t be right. The song was ‘Wheels on the Bus’. So was the hint referring to the wheels themselves? Orrie frowned, wordlessly rolling the paper back up and stuffing it into his backpack.

Another light breeze fluttered through, and Orrie took the moment to appreciate it before the answer suddenly thrust itself to the forefront of his brain. _Pinwheels!_ He made haste to the greenhouse, spotting with happiness the rainbow pinwheel spinning lazily above the glass building. It took a few seconds to find the door that was nearly identical to the thick glass windows, but it wasn’t long before Orrie was inside. Almost instantly he was hit by the overwhelming stench of damp earth carried by hot air; the greenhouse was a lot muggier inside than he expected. So he left the door open in hopes of dispelling some of the heat.

Getting a better look of his surroundings, Orrie made a noise of slight annoyance. This place was more a maze than the actual maze outside– tables of varying lengths were arrayed in such an unorganized fashion that there was no easy way to walk down the rows and columns without having to turn corners every few steps. And some pathways led to obvious dead ends. Yet covering every table were brown pots holding various plants: some with flowers, some with growing trees, and some with strange foliage that were likely of magical origin. These pots had sets of colorful shapes painted on them, none of which were arranged in any particular pattern. Orrie approached the nearest pot, the one with three red squares and contained a bamboo shoot. To its right was a pot with foxgloves and painted with ten blue hexagons, and beside that was a pot with some sort of fern and dotted with four white diamonds.

_So what should I do with these?_ He lifted the pot. Nothing underneath. He turned it around. Nothing on its backside. He scooped out some of the packed soil. Nothing noticeably odd inside, but now he knew at least all the plants on the tables were fake after he pulled out the plastic bamboo stick. “They have to be fake for a reason,” he muttered quietly; the real plants had probably been put away for the event. He wandered around the greenhouse for several minutes, simply looking and pondering what he should be doing. There didn’t seem to be much else in here to browse at. It was when he somehow managed to maneuver himself to the back of the building he found ten trowels lined up neatly on the wall. Ten trowels– one for each of the guests.

Ah, so they did have to dig through the pots. After climbing onto the table (and taking care not to knock over any of the bowls containing water and real lotus plants growing) Orrie snatched one of the trowels. Now to figure out which pot to dig through. The boy grinned, remembering the hint. Of course– a bus has four wheels that go round, so he needed to find the pot with the four circles.

With excitement and a bit of pride in how much of the hint he solved by himself, Orrie hurried through the table maze once more, scanning each pot for the correct pattern arrangement. It wasn’t too long before he found the one he was looking for. He removed the fake bonsai tree and started digging. When he scooped out all the hard dirt he saw a thin indent at the bottom of the pot, just wide enough to fit the tip of his trowel in it. Orrie put the tool in and twisted, the bottom lifting to reveal a tiny but empty compartment beneath.

_What?_ The frown appeared as quickly as his excitement vanished. Was this not the correct pot? Orrie checked underneath it and even the two pots beside it, but there wasn’t anything. _Am I missing something?_ He walked slowly down the paths again looking for another pot with four circles. That one had seven squares…four rectangles…eight pentagons…five triangles. He eventually looked at each and every pot, but he couldn’t find any other with four circles.

He stopped and contemplated. The rhyme wasn’t complex so the answer had to be simple; he was just overlooking something. He thought some more before realizing his mistake. He _had_ been missing something– four wasn’t the right number. A bus may have four tires, but it had five wheels; he forgot to take into account the steering wheel. Spinning around, he dashed back where he’d been, realizing he’d passed a pot with five purple circles a couple tables down. He quickly found the pot, shoveled out the soil and fake tulip, connected the trowel to the slot, and twisted. The door opened, and this time there was something inside. Orrie dumped the items out—another key and scroll—and read the piece of paper:

“ _Non amo thee, Sabidi._ ”

_What does this—?_

The door to the greenhouse slammed shut before he could finish his thought. Faltering for only a second, Orrie took quick steps toward the exit but could already hear a mechanism click as he grabbed the handle. He turned it; the door was locked. Orrie banged against the reinforced glass. “Hey! Can somebody hear me? Open the door!” He paused when he heard something begin to buzz. Looking up, he saw the lights flicker and shift from a warm yellow to neon pink, and almost instantly the temperature in the building began to rise to a sweltering level. Orrie gasped, seeing that the greenhouse used strong magic to make its plants grow. “Help!” But he knew there was no one around to save him.

Droplets of sweat already beginning to coat him, Orrie forewent pounding the door with fists and tried flinging a pot at it instead. It bounced back with nothing more than a dull thud. He tried again and again, both door and windows, but all he succeeded in doing was drastically wearing himself out in the rising heat. Orrie was panting as he looked around for some other route of escape. The walls? A back door? He groaned, his thoughts slipping into sluggishness. He fell to the ground and crawled beneath a table in a useless attempt to find shade. Orrie pressed himself against the ground, taking in what little coolness was left in the concrete floor.

“Hel…he…” His mouth was too hot and dry. Sweat drenched his body yet couldn’t cool him. His eyelids felt heavy, and he so very much desired closing them and falling asleep. Orrie glanced one last time toward the sealed exit. _What’s…that…?_ From this position, head flat against the ground, he could make out a small raised _something_ on the floor nestled by the door hinge. It was only a shade darker than the rest of the cement but clearly not part of it. Orrie forced himself to believe that was some sort of emergency switch as he half-crawled, half-dragged himself toward it. He thought his heart did a tiny flutter when he saw it was indeed a button. He pressed it.

The floor rumbled, a grinding screech nearly too much for Orrie to handle. A couple feet to his left a part of the floor fell and slid away. Orrie crawled over to it, peeking over and noticing at least a ten foot drop into an underground tunnel. What little reasoning his brain had left could not stop him from pushing himself forward; the boy tumbled through the hole and landed painfully on his shoulder and side. He rolled onto his back, dimly aware he should be in more pain than he was but honestly too tired to care.

Something clattered beside him. It took Orrie a moment to realize he’d dropped the key and even longer to realize he’d been holding it and the hint the whole time. He moaned and closed his eyes, falling asleep to rest in the cool, quiet tunnel.

When he woke up after what felt like hours later, Orrie felt somewhat rejuvenated though still a bit woozy. His eyes stared upward. The hole was still open, the pink light flooding through but not nearly as scorching. He had seriously just been this close to—

No…

He…he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to. It had to have been part of the act…it had to…

Orrie wordlessly grabbed the items and climbed to his feet, slowly trudging down the spacious tunnel before him. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t see and had to feel out in front of himself to not crash into anything. He didn’t dare think of where the tunnel led and forced his thoughts to remain optimistic and hopeful. That’s why Orrie relaxed a bit when the tunnel ended with a vertical turn upward. Metal rungs were embedded in the wall, and he climbed them to find a wooden plank above him.

Orrie pushed once, twice, three times with all his might, finally able to get the heavy trapdoor to open. _Is…am I back in the manor?_ He seemed to be in a supply closet of sorts, artificial and non-magical light pouring in from beneath the closet door to reveal old brooms, buckets, and mops scattered messily about. He climbed out and, after closing the trapdoor, exited the tiny room. He found himself in an unfamiliar wing of the mansion.

Orrie walked down the halls, taking in the silence, the lack of magical heat, and the absence of people. He was safe…for now. So his thoughts drifted to the newest hint and what it could mean. Taking a second to pull it out and read it again, he noted that while the language was unfamiliar it looked an awful lot like Latin. “No…love…thee, Sabadi,” he roughly translated. “Oh! Don’t love thee, Sabadi. I don’t love thee, Sabadi.” He could recall no nursery rhymes that had that line.

He racked his memory for anything that could possibly be related. The only thing he could connect with was a song his doctor used to sing to him as a little kid. The memory was faint, though, because she only sang it to calm him down long enough to give him his shots, joking afterwards the song had to have been made just for her. “But how did it go?” he muttered to himself. He knew the melody and rhythm, and he was certain the words did relate to the hint. “I do not something, something…uh…” He bit his lip. “I do not…oh! I do not like thee, Dr. Fell.” Orrie smiled softly, remembering how much he actually liked Dr. Fell; she must’ve sang that song to all her patients.

He stuffed the paper back in his bag and picked up his pace. Now he had a destination in mind: an infirmary. There was no way this manor didn’t have one. Orrie was both relieved and unnerved that he didn’t come across anybody in his search for the room. He really should consider putting all this on hold and finding Dipper and Belle first, but it was right then he just so happened to stumble upon a door with the word “Clinic” printed on its window. Orie sighed, reasoning he was already this far along so why stop now, and entered the small room.

Inside had a bit more than one would expect to see in a clinic: a doctor’s desk and chair, a cushioned bench, a single cot, a full-length mirror, and a doctor’s scale. There was a bookshelf cramped into the corner behind the desk and a counter and cabinet full of medical supplies, but otherwise that was it. Orrie quickly went to work scouring through the drawers and cabinets, finding only a wireless (and broken) keyboard in the top drawer of the desk. At the bookshelf he tried to remove one of the books from the shelf, but they might as well have been nailed down because they wouldn’t budge.

Orrie stepped to the doctor’s chair and flopped down in it. He mumbled to himself, “I don’t love thee, Sabadi,” a few times, trying to find some secret meaning in it. Growling in frustration, he took out the hint once more. “Non amo thee, Sabadi. Non amo thee—”

Wait! This whole time he’d been translating the probably-Latin into English when he should’ve also been focusing on the actual English in the hint. ‘Thee’ meant ‘you’, he was mostly confident. He glanced up at the mirror, his reflection staring right back. It seemed perfectly normal, so he got up and inspected it. Sadly, it didn’t open up or have any backwards messages on it. Orrie returned to the seat, spinning himself slowly around in it as he brainstormed again. He was close to solving this, he could feel it. With little conscious thought he opened the top drawer again, eyeing the wireless keyboard.

It wouldn’t be in here for no reason, right? There was, after all, nothing else inside the other drawers and no monitor or computer on top of the desk. But it was broken, with several of the keys missing and bits of plastic chipped off to reveal exposed circuitry. Orrie half-heartedly started pressing some of the remaining letters. He really needed to figure out what he was overlooking. Which, he admitted, would be so much easier to do if he had the twins helping—

It was when he pressed the ‘U’ key that a book from the bookshelf suddenly popped out of its place with a loud _shoonk!_ , startling the boy and nearly causing him to tip out of the seat. He really wasn’t expecting anything to happen just now. He bent over and grabbed the displaced object, and his eyes widened when he recognized the book as actually a clue. Orrie snatched the key from his backpack and hurriedly unlocked the booklet. He at last read the clue he’d spent so long seeking:

“ _I just got the news from Pierce: The construction of our manor will begin Tuesday morning. I…I can't believe this is actually happening. Joining a cult, constructing a home, capturing and commandeering a demon of unimaginable power. I suppose it’s a miracle that they knew how to contact me at all. And while I’m happy to no longer be seen as an outlaw to at least a few, it's still so strange to me. Those six seem like the closest of friends; why drag an exiled nobody like me into their plans of grandeur? Is it only because of my knowledge of rare and blacklisted flora? Or is it also because of my understanding of the terrain, the likely routes and direction authorities would take to find us, the back-paths of escape?_

_Pierce assures me it's nothing to concern myself over, but I don't know; I don't think they treat me like I'm an equal to them. Still, being far from my birthland and with no allies of my own, I'll stick close to these people I’ll hesitantly call friends._ ”

Orrie took a moment to reread the first page, understanding that this writer was the least connected to the other cultists. Was he perhaps—no, he couldn’t jump to conclusions yet. Orrie turned to the other page:

“ _Four years to complete the manor, even with Jans and Sarkozy's extensive knowledge in magic and their unrivaled proficiency in handcrafted spells. But I'm not complaining. It's wonderful! A home. At last. I want to explore every inch of it like a young child…except for the attic. Sarkozy may be a bit overdramatic (or maybe her arachniphobia is legit), but she has a point, and so I'm keeping my distance from there until the infestation problem is resolved._ ”

Orrie’s heart raced. The names– these were the same names that were on their bedroom doors. He quickly went through the rooms and their occupants: he was in ‘Keller’, the Sterlings were in ‘Pierce’, Flynn was in ‘Jans’, the Lionharts were in ‘Gogh’, the Tosettis were in ‘Lemaire’, Siegfried was in ‘Sarkozy’, and Dug was…had been in ‘Kohl’.

Comprehension then dawned on him. “So those abbreviations must be for their first names since none of the rooms start with ‘M’ or ‘H’,” he said aloud as he took out his sketchbook and wrote down all the important takeaways from the clue. But when he finished he faltered in putting the clue back in its place.  Yes, Siegfried would be problematic if he found Orrie carrying it but…what if Flynn had been right? What if he couldn’t depend on the other guests? Sure, he felt _mostly_ safe with the Sterling twins, but they wouldn’t always be here– right now being a great case in point. The killer wanted them all to solve the mystery; and the more clues he had, the likelier his chances of staying alive to do that.

Was that why Dipper had asked to hold on to it earlier? Had he already realized their importance and wanted a safeguard? Orrie’s hold on the clue tightened. He trusted them, he really did; he told himself such. But…but it wouldn’t hurt to keep this one little secret. His own safeguard. Besides, if it turned out to be something crucial later on, he’d tell them about it immediately.

Orrie removed the two diary pages from the booklet’s flaps and laid them in his sketchbook. Then he put the booklet back on the bookshelf and left the small room.

* * *

Mr. Goodman stared dolefully at the stone floor, still unable to bear looking at the security feeds. How in the world could this have all happened under his watch? How had—he had trusted his staff. He had trusted Terry. He’s known the young man for four years; not once had he done anything remotely this…horrendous. Then again did he really know Terry if he was currently tied up and gagged in the inner chamber’s spare room? There was commotion by the monitors for some reason, and Mr. Goodman looked up. At least someone had been “kind” enough to leave the door cracked open, enough so that Mr. Goodman could see the screens and several staff members crowding around them.

From his limited view he could tell they were switching through the feeds quickly, looking for something. Or was it someone? Earlier it had been Mr. Fairfern as he talked to the children and convinced them to move Mr. Segal’s body. Then it had been on Mr. Connolly as he wandered the manor for clues. For a long while the staff kept watch on the twins as they ate; for some reason the cameras’ mics only picked up interference when they spoke. He did spot briefly the young boy Orrie heading outside, but that had been well over an hour ago and shortly after Terry had left the chamber for who knew why. At least the Tosettis were currently out of danger; the staff quickly turned feeds from them when they noticed all the elderly couple doing was reading and looking out their bedroom window.

Mr. Goodman returned his subdued gaze to the floor again. He was absolutely useless, unable to protect his own guests, so many of them so young. It was relatively quiet for several minutes until a scream tore through the speakers. Mr. Goodman’s head snapped up, his terror-filled eyes dreading to see what was before him.

The feed was from the foyer, not far from the staircase. Zahia Lionhart was leaning over something on the ground, wails escaping her as she did something with fervor. He couldn’t tell what exactly was going on—with her back to the camera and the staff pushing to get better views and blocking his sight—but based on her location he could make an educated guess.

Someone else had been killed—Cliff Lionhart no doubt. Mr. Goodman struggled to think what specifically could have done it; there were just too many possibilities. His blood chilled when he realized Zahia’s screams would act like a beacon to the other guests. With Terry in control and clearly having reactivated the mansion’s traps, the foyer in particular was nothing more than a death room waiting to claim its victims.

Shadows bobbed down one of the connecting hallways, and soon enough the Sterling twins ran into the picture, stopping short by the stairs. Dipper, face carefully blank, said something to Mrs. Lionhart, but again the mics had difficulty picking up sound; it was mostly garbled static with words occasionally breaching though. Whatever the boy said Mrs. Lionhart refused to answer, still hunched over and crying heavily.

“…eed to…could…atching ri…” Dipper made a step forward. That’s when Mrs. Lionhart rounded on him, shouting something indiscernible to the twins. Belle said something back, she too trying to keep herself collected, and Mrs. Lionhart broke down into tears again. The staff members started murmuring amongst themselves, making it even harder to hear what was going on.

Flynn arrived from out the same hall the twins came through. Mr. Goodman could tell he was a man seasoned to handle crises because almost immediately he was taking long strides toward Mrs. Lionhart and gently pulling her away from the spot she rooted herself to. Zahia struggled against him, but the elf was far stronger and held her tight to his chest. His glare hardened toward the twins, and Mr. Goodman could barely read his lips as he ordered them to go upstairs. Dipper retorted, his expression darkening as he took a defiant step forward and crossed his arms.

“…ot a game! We…nger…perty.”

“How d…eave? In…e’ve no…no…un awa…”

Belle joined in with something, but Mr. Fairfern shook his head at the two. “…en barrac…rooms. I’m ta…rol of the…” He paused. “And…rrie?” All eyes turned to Mrs. Lionhart then; she must have been muttering something. Whatever she said caused Dipper to look away with…anger? Frustration? Mr. Goodman couldn’t quite place the emotion. Likewise, Belle and Mr. Fairfern seemed quite uneasy. It was only then Mr. Goodman took notice of the thin puddle of blood pooling on the floor by Zahia and Flynn’s feet.

A door slam made all the guests jump: Siegfried had entered the scene. There was a brief moment of no one moving while Mr. Connolly and Flynn exchanged words, the twins speaking up every once in a while. Then Flynn, Dipper, and Belle were all staring incredulously at the large man. Both teens glanced at Flynn when the elf suddenly started shouting at Siegfried, looking downright furious. Even Zahia momentarily looked up at him.

“…will not allo…ou…ndanger the lives…people, Siegfried!”

Siegfried yelled harshly, “I didn…ared off by…came for…oney! Your…no concer…me!” He faced Belle when the girl uttered something evidently scathing to him. He scowled, curtly turning his attention to Zahia. He nodded toward her (again, likely talking to her) before turning on his heel and leaving the foyer. Flynn watched him go with the darkest glare Mr. Goodman had ever seen on a man’s face. His anger was almost palpable.

His head snapped to the side. Mr. Goodman had missed him coming in during Flynn’s outburst at Siegfried, but there was Orrie standing just at the edge of the screen, frozen in place as he stared with terrified and unwavering eyes at the scene before him.

“No…ve now! Orr…go!” But the boy couldn’t move, his form visibly shaking, all ability to otherwise respond gone. Flynn half-carried, half-dragged Zahia away and towards Orrie, her resuming her struggle to break free from him. “Zahia!” Finally she escaped, but she had been carried far enough away for Mr. Goodman to at last get a good look at Cliff.

The man’s death was hopefully quick. Long, needle-like blowgun darts were embedded deep into his chest and upper body, several piercing clean through his heart and base of his throat. A look of surprised pain was forever frozen on his face that stared blankly into the distance, his own blood soaking through his shirt and staining everything it touched. Beside him, half smeared by blood and half crushed when Zahia knelt beside him, was a note. It went unnoticed as Zahia screamed her husband’s name over and over. It went unnoticed as Flynn changed priorities and hurried to guide Orrie up the stairs, desperate to block the child’s view and demanding Belle and Dipper to help him. But Mr. Goodman saw it. And he read it. And he knew Terry was far from done with toying with his unwitting prisoners:

“ _Needles and pins, you married on whims; let’s end all your grins with dastardly sins._ ”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am aware in the last chapter I said buses have four tires when in actuality most have six, but I knew that going in. It was for the sake of simplicity and the fact most people typically picture a bus with four wheels I decided to go with it.
> 
> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

“Hey Orrie? Are you okay now?” Belle gently rubbed small circles on the boy’s back. The three were in the twins’ room, Pierce, and none of them had tried to leave after Flynn and the two siblings guided Orrie inside.

_It was clear Orrie was in shock, but how much so Flynn couldn’t say. At least the boy had started responding, if only mutely, after they’d left the foyer. “Orrie, can you understand me?” Flynn asked softly. He’d gotten a slow nod of the head. “I need you to stay here. Do not leave this room. Do not open the door for any of the staff. Do you understand?” Another wordless nod. Flynn stood, leaving him to sit quietly on the bed._

_“The same goes for you two,” he said to the twins. When Dipper looked ready to argue, the elf held up a hand for him to be quiet. “This is not a game, young man. Acting imprudently will only get you killed. You and your sister will stay in this room until I determine the rest of the upstairs area safe to reside in.”_

_“Checking if it’s safe outside isn’t our priority,” Dipper retorted, “As long as the killer’s loose, nowhere is safe, and you know that. Besides, it was you who said we needed to play their game to survive.”_

_“We do, but I’m leaving that as a last resort for you children. You need to keep yourselves hidden, and you must run if someone manages to get in. I’m going to track down the people behind this, and I’m betting finding their clues will lead me straight to them.” He headed for the door. “For everyone’s sakes, I will find them. And I will get you back safe and sound to your families.”_

That had been over twenty minutes ago, and since then the only movement done was to sit beside Orrie to try and calm him or to restlessly pace around in circles. “Flynn has no idea what he’s up against,” Dipper said.

“ _We_ have no idea what we’re up against,” his sister countered; he only shot her a look. Belle let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean– what the 99%-we’re-sure-are-cultists want from us. If they’re trying to summon a demon, why trap us specifically? And why let us continue solving the mystery? Face it, bro, nothing about this makes much sense.”

“So you want me to—?”

“I don’t know—maybe? Yes? We both have good points, so…” She trailed off, staring around the room as if hoping one of the inanimate furniture could express her thoughts instead.

“You’re not thinking of doing something stupid, are you?” Both twins looked at the boy who’d finally spoken. He sniffled, clearly fighting hard to keep tears and snot from leaking down his face. “You’re not going to do something that’ll likely get you killed…are you?” Though his words were thick, he was afraid. Afraid and helpless and scared of what Dipper and Belle were planning. “I don’t wa-want you to get hurt too. Not like that.” His sobs grew quicker, the tears now falling. “Not like—not like that. Not like—” He cried. A tiny part of him derided he was acting like a wimp and crying like a baby in front of two strangers he hardly knew. But he ignored it. So what if they thought he was a baby? So what if they mocked him for it later? “W-why?” was all he could choke out between sobs. A single word that somehow seemed to encompass the infinite number of questions he feared to ask.

No one said anything for a while. Then Dipper walked over and sat on the other side of him, and both twins leaned over and hugged him. “Don’t stop,” he whispered, joining Belle in rubbing his back. “Not until it’s all out. This isn’t easy for any of us.” He glanced to the side when he heard his sister sniffle, but he didn’t comment. His look was a tired one, empathetic. Much too old and knowing to be on a face as young as his, Orrie vaguely thought in that distant, half-aware sort of way.

When the tears ran dry minutes later and the sobs grew quieter and less frequent, Orrie rubbed his arm over his eyes, wiping them clean. “Sorry,” he murmured. He could feel Belle doing the same, using the heel of her hand to dab out the tears that had gathered.

“You know,” she let out an empty chuckle, “It’s easy to forget we’re just a bunch of kids.”  
  
“I’m not—” Dipper started heatedly before finishing with an annoyed huff, “—going to dignify that with a response.”

“You’re more mature than I gave you credit for,” Belle continued as if uninterrupted. “You kept it together for this long, through shock and everything. Only an idiot would be trying to act all tough after seeing something as horrible as that.” When Orrie didn’t say anything she patted his shoulder. “Hey, you know what they say about crying?” He looked up at her, shaking his head. “It doesn’t mean that you’re weak.”

Orrie balled his hands, clenching his pant leg. “…I didn’t cry for Dug,” he muttered. He shuddered, a new realization coming over him. “I didn’t cry for Ms. Wheatly either.” No longer blinding himself with denial, there was no way anyone could convince him those were special effects they’d seen last night. And now he only felt cold and empty, guilty he thought nothing more of their deaths. How readily he wrote them off.

“That doesn’t make you a bad person,” Belle whispered. Orrie nodded quietly.

“She’s right,” Dipper spoke up, garnering their attentions and clearly wanting to change topics, “But now we have to figure out what you want to do next.”

“M-me?” Orrie blinked, looking up at him, “Don’t you mean ‘us’?”

“We already have a plan,” was Dipper’s blunt response, “Well, two, but we’re trying Belle’s first. The question is how much you want to be involved in it. Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want, and we’re not going to force you to do anything or make you stay in your room. But there’s something going on here that’s more than just this stupid mystery, and we need to stop it before it happens.”

Why did they seem to have a better understanding of what was going on? How could they concoct two separate plans in such a short span of time? Orrie began to wonder how much he could actually trust them.

He let his eyes fall. “But what can we do?” he asked dully. “Belle said herself we’re all just kids, kids against a killer out for…blood? Sacrifices? Who knows. They’ve already killed three people since last night, and they almost—” He swallowed back those words; no need to focus on that right now. “I’m scared, you guys. I don’t want to die. I just want to go home.” He took a forced breath. “But that’s not going to happen the way I see it. Do nothing and the killer will kill me. Do what he wants and the killer will kill me. This plan of yours might draw his attention, make him angry for trying to stop him. But if there’s even a small chance it’ll work and we all make it out alive, I’m all in for helping you.”

The twins smiled. “Thanks, Orrie!” Belle said, hugging him with one arm. “And don’t you worry. We’ll definitely be making it out of here. We have Dipper.” She said it like that proved everything. “Okay, so now that you’re in, it’s only fair we tell you what we need to do. Remember what that phony ‘Alcor’ guy said about the mansion having wards and junk to capture the real Alcor?” Orrie nodded. “Turns out he’s right about that. There’s some strong magic that blocks any spell I try to use, and bro can barely use his.”

Orrie starred between the two. “Don’t tell me– you’re going to try and find the master rune?”

“If we destroy that then we’ll remove the mansion’s entire spellwork, or at the very least chunk a large enough hole in it so I can use my abilities again.”

“So you guys can seriously use magic? Seriously!?”

“Something of the sort.”

That response couldn’t have been any more vague, but Orrie didn’t care. The Sterlings could apparently use magic, and more than just the average spells most people knew, it seemed. Even if they weren’t sorcerers it was still rare to find a human that proficient in magic, let alone two; one was much more likely to stumble upon someone with the Sight.

Orrie was feeling those embers of hope slowly rekindle.

“Do you have any ideas where it might be?”  
  
“We’re thinking it’s in a hidden room either below or above the manor,” Dipper answered, getting to his feet. “Normally it’d be embedded in the foundation along with the other wards, but that would be problematic if the cultists ever needed to make adjustments to it. Hiding it away in a room where, say, the police don’t stumble upon it would be the next best course.” He resumed his pacing. “The biggest question now is where we should start looking for it. The cultists behind the killings are almost definitely keeping a watch on us whenever they can, so spending too much time in a single location while not looking for clues will make them suspicious. And splitting up is also a bad idea.” Dipper didn’t elaborate on that one, but he did send a nearly subtle glance toward Orrie, subtle enough that his sister missed it.

The younger boy barely held the shiver wanting to shoot down his spine. Did Dipper somehow know about the incident in the greenhouse? No, that was impossible; no one could see the greenhouse from any of the manor’s windows. Not saying anything, he instead procured his sketchbook. As much as he wanted to update the map, he told himself to wait until he was out of sight from the twins. The last thing now was to confirm Dipper’s suspicions. “Right. So which to look for first: a basement or attic?”

“We could try searching this wing for the basement,” Belle said, pointing to the downstairs area. “We haven’t been down there yet.” Orrie again stayed quiet, knowing full well the entrance to a basement wouldn’t likely be in the wing he escaped to from the underground tunnel.

His gaze shifted up when he heard Dipper approach. There was a light frown on his face as he scanned the map for a few seconds. “Something doesn’t add up,” he muttered. “There’s only one set of stairs here.”

“Yeah, the main stairway,” Orrie said. Then he and Belle paused.

“But isn’t this a three-story building?” Belle slowly asked. Dipper nodded. “Then to the attic we go.” She marched to the door. “I’m sure the three of us can find—” Both Dipper and Orrie crashed into her when she stopped suddenly in her tracks.

Peering past her they spotted Siegfried down the hall, standing up from some sort of crouch. He dusted himself off, looking up and spotting them staring before Belle could close the door. “What are you three up to?”

Orrie took a tiny step back as Belle answered with an innocent “Nothing.” The narrowing of Siegfried’s eyes told her that was the wrong answer to give. “Er, rather we were about to head out to find better reception. Turns out the phones still don’t work even in our rooms.”

“Yeah. Flynn told us to stay put up here, but we wanted to help him out,” Dipper spoke up. To this Siegfried crossed his arms and smiled smugly.

“Well, you children certainly can help by keeping yourselves secured in your rooms and out of the way. Don’t you fret– I’ve just about solved this mystery, and I’ll get you all out safe and sound once I do.”

“So you’ve found a hint?” The man leered at Dipper.

“Perhaps. What does it matter to you?”

“Only curious. We’ve stopped looking for them. More interested in calling the police since, you know, there’s a murderer out to get us.”

“They won’t be once I’ve solved their final puzzle. So you three better sit tight until then.”

“Question,” Belle frowned, “Won’t the murderer kill you even if you do solve the mystery?”

“Not ‘if’, ‘when’,” Siegfried corrected her, “And if they try to pull an underhanded stunt like that, I’ve got a nasty little surprise for them in turn.” Orrie had the unnerving suspicion Siegfried was referring to some sort of weapon, which their contracts expressively forbade them from bringing. Seriously, how far was this man willing to go for the money?

“Then best of luck to you,” Belle said. She waved before quickly shutting the door. “Whew!” she sighed in relief. Then she looked toward her brother. “The hint is totally in his left coat pocket; saw him stuff it in there.”

“And the weapon’s in his right boot. Did you notice how much bulkier the heel was? Is either a knife or a small pistol.” Orrie stared in awe at them.

“Wow, you guys are, like, real-life Montana Martinezes. I didn’t even think to look.” Both twins grinned at the compliment. “But Belle, you raised a good point back then. What if the killers do finally show themselves once the mystery’s solved? Do you think, if that happens—” he couldn’t believe he was about to suggest it “—we would be able to stop them there and then?”

Orrie was surprised even further when the two actually seemed to consider the idea. Belle looked contemplatively at Dipper. “Well, bro? Once we get rid of the master rune, would that be enough for us to stop them?”

“Definitely,” nodded Dipper, “Even if there’s a whole cult of killers involved. So after we remove the master rune, all that’s left is solving the mystery to lure them out. We’ll get them then.”

“Your magic will be enough, right?” Orrie wondered, worry creeping in his voice, “I can’t use any at all, and what if there is a whole cult involved?”

“Trust me, I’ll have more than enough.” Orrie smiled with reassurance. So they waited for several minutes in the room.

Eventually, Belle wondered, “Do you think he’s gone?” Dipper strode over and poked his head out the door.

“It’s clear,” he called back, leading the way outside. The two followed. Orrie took out his map as they walked down the east wing, ready to begin their search.

“Okay, accuracy of the scale aside, there aren’t many places a hidden stairway can be up here,” he said to them. He looked ahead toward the very short west wing that was nothing more than a well-decorated nook containing several small sofas, large portraits, and two tables with lamps.

“In the movies it’d likely be somewhere over there,” said Dipper as he eyed several of the furniture.

Belle folded her arms. “But this isn’t a movie, and that’d be too obvious. If by some chance someone did learn of a hidden staircase up here, of course the cultists would want them searching as far away from the real location as possible.”

“So it’s more than likely in the east wing,” agreed Orrie, turning around. He could sense the twins looking over at him.

“Do you have any ideas?” Dipper asked. The other didn’t say anything for a while.

“I think so. My drawing doesn’t have everything to scale, but my memory does. If the bedrooms are constructed the way I think they are…” He hurried to the last room on the right: Kohl. He peered inside the empty room, looking around for only a couple seconds to find what he needed. “Thought so.” He stepped back, quietly shutting the door as he did. “All our rooms look to be identical except for one thing– the location of the washroom and closet.” He laid the sketchbook down and took out a pencil. The Sterlings crouched low to watch him draw. “I got a look inside Flynn and the Lionharts’ rooms earlier today, and all their washrooms and closets are in the back to the left side of the room. Same goes for yours and Dug’s.” He added in the new details to the map.

Dipper’s eyes widened. “But yours is in the back to the right.”

Orrie grinned. “That’s right. Though they’re not too big, the washrooms still need a lot of piping. And there wouldn’t be a lot of room for both that and a stairway except for here.” He pointed to the space of empty wall between his room and Siegfried’s. “Taking into account the size of the rooms, there should be just enough space for a narrow flight of stairs precisely…” He led the two back to the area, taking one slow, measured step after another. “…here.” By all means there seemed nothing different about this spot, but Belle took a step closer, feeling the wallpaper.

“Feels just as solid as the rest,” she informed them, letting her hand slide all around. It was when it was somewhere around her waist level she let out a surprised “Oh!”

“What is it?” her brother asked, stepping next to her.

“There’s something here, sorta smooth.” She rubbed over the spot again. Orrie could only notice a small indent in the wallpaper when she pressed down around the area. “Maybe a hole. The paper’s too stiff to push my finger through.”

“I can find something to tear it with,” Orrie said, and spun around to find a sharp object from somewhere. He got maybe two steps before he heard a loud _RIIIIIPP!_ , and he turned around again to see a huge chunk of the wallpaper torn off. Dipper smiled a little sheepishly, pieces of paper caught between his fingers.

“Didn’t think it’d tear that easily,” he chuckled with mild embarrassment as Orrie just stared. Dipper couldn’t have punched through the wall, so the boy could only wonder how he got his hand through to rip away the rest of the hard paper. Oh well– at least it was removed.

The wooden door blended in almost perfectly with the wall. Its silver ring pull had to be what Belle had felt, and she grabbed the handle from its recessed hole and tugged. The heavy door eventually creaked open, catching once or twice on the carpet before reluctantly allowing itself to open more fully. Just beyond its entrance was a narrow, spiraling wooden staircase leading upward.

High fives were shared among the three. “Great work, team!” Belle led the way up, followed closely by her brother and Orrie. Orrie stared around in wonder after stepping past the landing. The attic was cluttered with junk, but cluttered in an oddly organized manner. Mounds of worn and broken furniture were stacked with paintings, props, costumes, books, cloths, boxes– honestly, this attic was like a treasure chest of forgotten antiques. The three split off to squeeze down different paths, and Orrie made his way between two long and empty bookshelves covered in dust and spider webs. Beyond those were some racks of differently styled housekeeper uniforms, again covered in webs.

Orrie browsed through a couple of heavily used books lying on the seat of a chair. One in particular seemed to be about constructing summoning circles judging by the illustrations, but the words were faded and written entirely in Latin. Orrie frowned, putting the book back. He grinned, though, when he saw a pair of black bat wings dangling from a wooden coat rack. The metal frame was bent and sticking out a bit from the top, but he still thought the costume piece was pretty cool. He’d like to keep it if he could.

“Do you see anything suspicious?” Belle called out even though she herself was browsing through a huge box of…random stuff (Orrie could have sworn he saw a baseball bat poking out from the box). Besides that were clearly items relating to or reflecting the theme of Alcor: fake stars, cloths of black and gold, dreamcatchers, and even tiny ceramics showing children playing.

Orrie looked around and finally spotted Dipper even further away than the two of them. He glanced up when his twin called (and even seemed a bit embarrassed once he realized Orrie had spotted him admiring a rather well-drawn portrait of the Dreambender) before narrowing his eyes toward the floor. “Uh, yep,” was the forthright response. “Right below us.” Blinking, Orrie looked down. Indeed, there seemed to be strange squiggles embedded in the floor; even more weird was how they seemed to be in a line leading to the center of the attic.

Careful not to disturb anything, Orrie maneuvered himself toward where the sigils seemed to congregate. Belle was just as cautious and caught up to him soon enough. “This has got to be it.” A humongous rug with a grandfather clock on its center was covering the spot. Lifting just the edge, the two peeked under. Though there wasn’t too much light, they could just make out the edges of a giant circle.

“The master rune?” asked Orrie, having never seen a sigil this large before.

“The master rune,” Belle nodded, putting the rug back down. “Only problem is we can’t disengage it with this clock in the way. Think you can help me move it?” Together they lifted the old clock and carried it carefully off of the rug. Despite being gentle, it still landed with a pronounced _thump!_ Orrie winced slightly, hoping no one downstairs heard that.

“Let me see too,” Dipper said, having finally reached them. He and Belle shifted the giant rug away with Orrie’s help. After inspecting it for a brief minute he nodded. “So the good news is that we did find a master rune—”

“Gaaah! Don’t tell me,” groaned Belle, “It’s not _the_ master rune, is it?”

“Afraid not. This is more of a supplementary rune, boosting the strength of the true one somewhere else. These marks on the floor are basically the links between the two. But…” He trailed off.

“But what?” asked Orrie.

“That’s…weird,” he muttered mostly to himself, “There aren’t any sigils used for containing demons.”  
  
Belle only blinked at her brother. “So? I’d have thought the master rune would be in charge of that anyway.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t hurt to have this one also capable of trapping demons—I mean, that’s what I would do if I were going to try and capture Alcor. Not that it would work anyway.” He stepped over to one strange symbol etched into the wood. “Still, we better disengage it. It’s adding power to the real master rune, so destroying this should weaken the other one. All we have to do is mark out this symbol right here.”

“Well, I’m sure we can find something up here to mark it out with.”

“Don’t worry, guys, I’ve got it!” And Belle proceeded to whip out a strange gun contraption from her sweater.

“Where did you get a grappling hook?” Dipper asked with much alarm in his tone; Orrie only stared at the outdated thing in bemusement.

“From that box over there. Now stand back!”  
  
“Belle, that’s really not a good—!”

_FWOOM!_  
  
_CRAAK!_

The entire floorboard broke under the hook’s force. Dipper groaned loudly as Belle retracted the cable, deigning to show guilt and worry over her action. It was clear she was more or less expecting it to only dent the wood, not smash it in half. “…Well, it worked,” Orrie eventually stated. They continued to stare at the hole in the floor.

Something within it moved.

“What…what the heck are those?” Belle took three steps back as several black blurs scuttled out. The boys were retreating as well as more and more shiny black spiders crawled out of their nest like rushing water. Orrie gasped when he spotted the faint bluish line running down their abdomens.

“The clue!” he shouted, “Those spiders from the clue! The Blue-Striped Arachnids!”

“Don’t let them near you!” Dipper shouted, shoving Orrie back. They were swarming, and soon scores of them separated Orrie and Dipper. “Follow Belle! Hurry!”

Orrie nearly lost his balance as he stumbled backward. “What about you?”

“I’ll deal with them! Go!”

“Come on!” Belle had snatched Orrie’s arm. The boy got one last glance at Dipper—watching as a blue flame erupted inside his palm—before he was pulled away, and they both raced for the exit. Already a mass of spiders were gathered there, and there was no way they could jump to safety. “Okay, take two!” Belle aimed her grappling hook at the beam above the stairs and fired. It flew, wrapping itself around the wood. Catching on, Orrie clung to Belle, and she leaped, swinging the both of them over the spiders and down the staircase. They tumbled down, slamming into each other and the narrow sides.

They landed in a heap on top of a surprised Siegfried.

“What in the—what is the meaning of this!?” Orrie was able to roll off easily enough, but Belle seemed to be having more difficulty untangling herself from the cable; she was practically sprawled all over the man and struggling to orient herself. He was quick to help them up, and once they were separated Siegfried was glaring furiously at the two of them. “What were you doing up there?” he demanded. “You three are searching for clues, aren’t you?”

“No, we weren’t, honest!” Belle hastily denied, hands zooming behind her back. “We were looking for a place to call the police.”

“There’s no reception down here,” added Orrie, panicking internally now that he had Siegfried’s intense stare, “W-we thought up was the way to go. See, we figured there had to be a way to the third floor somehow—”

“By looking for _secret_ staircases?” His tone was turning very accusatory. “You were actively searching for them, don’t lie. You three are—” Thumping cut him off, and a second later Dipper tumbled down the stairs, landing between the three of them. He sat up, holding up a disconnected telephone handset.

“This probably would work better if I hadn’t broken it,” he chuckled weakly. Belle shook her head in shame at her brother.

“You should have been careful moving that old thing from the pile. And that was our last shot too.” Orrie tried to smile reassuringly.

“Well, we still have our cell phones. Worst comes to worst, we’ll find another room that has a signal.”

Siegfried didn’t say anything for a long while. Then, after a loud, forceful exhale through his nose, he turned on his heel. “Stay out of my way,” was all he said as he headed back downstairs.

“We will!” Belle cheerily replied to him, waving. When he was well clear and gone she stuck her tongue out. “Jerk.”

Dipper stood, tossing the telephone piece and dusting himself off. “I could overhear you guys from the attic and figured Siegfried wasn’t going to let us off easy for finding something like this.”

“That was some quick thinking,” Orrie said. “But Dipper, how were you able to make that fire without a spell or anythi—”

“Guys, we really should leave here ASAP,” Belle cut him off, grabbing both of their attentions. In her hand was a scroll. “Siegfried’s gonna notice this is missing pretty soon.”

Abandoning his question as inconsequential, Orrie hurried after Dipper to read the hint Belle unrolled:

“ _Rub-a-dub-dub, which the demon doth snub?_ ”

“So basically it’s asking which of the three men in a tub the demon liked least,” said Belle as Orrie scribbled down the hint and drew a crude image of the attic. “The butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker.”

“The baker,” were Dipper’s immediate words. Even Belle couldn’t help blinking in surprise by how quickly he came to that. “When trying to summon a demon, blood and candles are required, which the butcher and candle maker can respectively provide. Baked goods _can_ be used as an offering, but they’re not a necessity, and most demons won’t accept them.”

“I bet Alcor would,” Belle teased.

“Yeah, but Alcor wasn’t specified in the hint,” countered her brother.

“But we _are_ in—”

Orrie snapped his book closed before she could continue. “Okay, that answers the hint, but it doesn’t quite tell us where to go next.”

“Doesn’t it?” Belle raised a brow at him. “Where does a baker bake?” Orrie paused. Then he nearly smacked himself in the face for missing the obvious. “We better hurry. I’ll leave this here so he’s less likely to suspect us.”

“He already suspects us.” But they ignored Dipper’s comment as she tossed the scroll near where she’d landed on Siegfried, and the trio treaded carefully toward the kitchen. They saw no one as they stepped onto the tiled marble, Orrie still looking around in concern. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed, but surely Siegfried would have solved the hint by now and taken the clue. He voiced his thoughts.

Belle shrugged and replied with a simple, “We won’t know until we check.” So they searched the cabinets, the refrigerator, the drawers, the oven—every place they could think of that a baker might use.

_And I feel like we’re missing something again,_ Orrie thought to himself as he closed the last drawer containing measuring spoons. He considered the rhyme again. _Maybe the last line has something to do with it. It was…‘And all of them out to sea’._ He looked around. _Out to sea…so a lot of water…_

He looked over toward the sink. But he’d already checked beneath it.

So what if it wasn’t beneath it?

A spike of anticipation flooding him, Orrie checked the stainless steel sink again. It was empty, nothing inside either of its two basins, both drains covered with strainer baskets. Glancing between the two, Orrie lifted up both baskets. It was with the second one he let out a startled gasp—the basket on the right was really a disguised top to something. He pulled it out completely, revealing a thin hollow tube fastened securely beneath the basket.

“You find something?”

“Yeah! Look.” Orrie uncapped the tube, dumping a scroll and key into his palm. “Looks like Siegfried really didn’t solve it yet.” He pocketed the key before unfurling the hint:

“ _The dish followed his friend to freedom._ ”

Belle stared at the words thoughtfully. “The dish followed his friend to…” Her eyes slowly drifted over to her brother.

Dipper was silent for a moment, catching her stare. “What?” Belle’s look turned a bit more deadpan. He blinked, still confused. Then realization clicked. “Oh.”

“There’s an observatory we went through earlier.” Belle led the way to the room, the boys keeping an ear out for any of the other guests. A shiver swept through him, and Orrie cast Dipper a worried look; Dipper nodded in return. He too had noticed how eerily empty the mansion seemed since Cliff’s death.

“We’ll be alright.” Orrie didn’t know how he could sound so certain. He wished he had half confidence the twins shared. “We just have to stick together.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” The trip to the observatory was otherwise uneventful. Inside the cramped room was the lone telescope facing the window and the framed pictures of various constellations lining the walls. They easily located the picture labeled ‘Ursa Major’. Upon touching the glass, Orrie discovered it was actually a touch screen—letters arranged like a keyboard suddenly appeared at the bottom with a message on top:

 “ _Star light, star bright_  
The warmest star I see tonight  
How close you be, how bright you are  
Grant my dearest wish, ____”

One of the circles in the constellation shone bright yellow. Orrie hesitated, unfamiliar with the name of that star.

“…Mizar.” Orrie nearly missed the whispered name that fell from Dipper’s lips. He punched in the letters. Something clicked, and a tiny booklet fell out from behind the portrait. Orrie grabbed the clue. With the key, he unlocked it:

“ _I'm not sure why he insists we continue to use these silly codenames. Our plans are finally going into motion, and I'll likely just forget to keep using them by tomorrow. Then again, it beats Stephen's suggestion of being 'proper' and using our surnames instead (which only works if you know the other person's last name, Stephen! For the fourth time, I'm NOT Lemaire). The heck happened to calling friends by their actual names? But whatever. Mr. E says the land is officially ours. We'll begin construction of our manor on Tuesday._ ”

Orrie turned to the second page:

“ _Edgar, Howard, Dean, and I finally completed all of the manor's traps tonight. Such a huge variety to stop any unwanted guests—human or otherwise—in our home, from the traditional hidden spikes to the much more obscure methods. I've no doubt we've probably the most lethal security system the world’ll never get to see, provided nothing goes amiss. And if things do go downhill let's ALL hope, for the world's sake, the traps and binding circle are strong enough to contain a vengeful demon._ ”

“What the…there are three pages?” Orrie nearly dropped the page stuck to the second; Belle caught it before it fell. She held it up for them to read:

“ _Stephen never woke up this morning. Monty was the one to inform me. Mary is in tears, still crying in her bedroom; she's been there all day. Edgar no doubt suspects foul play- a bottle of medication was found opened on Stephen's dresser. Overdose. But why? Was he scared of getting caught by the authorities? He seemed like a sensible guy._

_…I noticed Monty and Dean snooping around the bedrooms today. I think Edgar ordered them to find evidence that Stephen's death wasn't accidental. If that's true, I best be careful what I write in this journal. Edgar was the one to suggest we all keep record of everything that happened to us on this journey to obtain infinite power, but if he's going to use these written records against us, then I refuse to give him what he wants._ ”

“Way too much to remember,” moaned Belle as she handed Orrie the page. “Okay, so the most important takeaway is that this Stephen guy is not the killer. Oh, and that this house is full of deadly booby traps.”

“And that these seem to be the first names of several of the cultists,” added Dipper. “The names of the bedrooms must be their last names.” Orrie nodded.

_And one of them is Mary Sarkozy, the one with the fear of spiders. She likely can’t be the killer then._ Furthermore, neither the writer nor Stephen had the surname Lemaire.

He flinched when Belle suddenly hovered a bit too close to him. “Say, don’t you think this Edgar person might be this Mr. E?”  
  
“I-I was thinking the same thing,” Orrie stuttered, calming himself. _So Edgar…Edgar Pierce? Both names were used for the supposed ringleader. And Mr. M…Monty. Monty Jans. He and Sarkozy were the most adept at magic. And that would explain the couples joke Mr. H, er, Howard made._

Orrie wrote down the first and last names in separate columns. Slowly but surely they were figuring this out. He stood when he was done, placing the clue in his bag.

Soft screams and muffled thuds froze all three of them in terror.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

They hurried to the source of the sounds, knowing with little doubt where they came from. Orrie trembled slightly at the sick curiosity that lured him through the halls; it wasn’t as if he didn’t know what those noises had been.

What they had indicated.

All three stopped at the entrance way to the foyer just as a shriek resounded through the room, eyes widened in disbelief and horror despite them expecting the worst. Upstairs, Zahia—hands clinging tightly to the banister as the rest of her sagged on her knees—was staring horrified at the two crumpled bodies at the base of the steps. Belle stepped forward, slowly at first, followed by her brother as they examined the corpses.

Orrie went numb when Dipper repositioned them: it was the Tosettis. The old couple had done literally nothing wrong during their whole stay; they weren’t participating in the mystery nor did they have an inkling of the murders taking place. So to see them…dead…despite being unaware and uninvolved…

Belle let out a tiny gasp and pointed to something near Dipper. He spotted the small piece of paper beneath Mr. Tosetti’s hand and, after carefully slipping it out, read it. He seemed to take in the whole message at once, crushing the paper shortly after. Without a word he just shook his head at his sister, his expression somber.

“No one’s safe…” Orrie could just pick up the whimpers from upstairs. He looked fearfully toward Zahia. “No one…why are they doing this…why us…why us…”

“Did you…?” Orrie had to try again after swallowing the lump in his throat. “Did you see who did this?”

The woman looked up, her mouth open to answer before she paused. “Are you still going along with that madman?” she sobbed, slowly rising. Orrie didn't have a chance to speak when Zahia suddenly started screaming at him. “Do you even care what's happening to us!? Cliff is dead! Because of you—you and everyone else who keep encouraging that demon! Oh, Alcor would find pleasure in seeing us suffer; what demon wouldn't!?”

A twinge of anger sparked in him. “That isn't Alcor!” Orrie shouted back, ignoring the look of contempt from her. “That's just an actor; you know that! The real Alcor—” He hesitated. _‘The real Alcor wouldn't do this’_ was an easy enough response, but would it be true? Yes, he had the stories from his grandfather and the books and texts about Alcor that he would always cherish, the proof the demon _did_ have a kinder side that shouldn’t be ignored…but that was it. Even his grandpa had warned him once or twice to stay on the Dreambender's good side. Even the articles made mention of the demon's sporadic bursts of bloodlust and destruction. Who was he—a preteen boy—to convince this woman who just lost her spouse to ignore the hundreds of firsthand accounts of Alcor slaughtering people who've provoked him?

What did it matter?

“That isn't him,” he muttered.

“No duh that's not him!” Belle spoke up, earning surprised looks from them both. “My—he would never find enjoyment in this, not to those who don't deserve it. So don't you dare believe that fraud's Alcor because he doesn't know anything about him.”

“And you do?” retorted Zahia.

“ **I** **̢** **ndee** **̷** **d** **̛** **,** **̷** **yo** **u** **͡** **do** **̛** **?** **̷** ” Zahia let out a shriek and ran toward her room as the Alcor impersonator materialized in the air between the two floors. Dipper actually snarled at the man while Belle looked just as ready to attack him.

“I know more than you ever will.” Her cold gaze seemed to make ‘Alcor’ smirk wider, and he hovered down closer. Dipper stood instantly, his eyes never straying from the imposter. He mumbled something to his twin, too low for Orrie to catch; but whatever it was sparked a gleam of confidence in Belle’s eyes. She took a daring step forward. “And I know the real Alcor would have the guts to face us in person.” The smirk immediately vanished from the actor’s face. “He wouldn’t hide behind some illusion like you are, you fake. Too scared to come out and— _aah!_ ” ‘Alcor’ had snapped his fingers, and Belle had been shot up high into the air, level with the illusion.

“Belle!”  Dipper cried out to his sister before his eyes darted fearfully at ‘Alcor’. No– not quite, Orrie realized, following the boy’s line of sight. Dipper was looking past the illusion, at the panel that had flipped up on the wall behind it, completely blocked from Belle’s point of view. The exposed hole was center with her chest. “ _BELLE!_ ”

“ **I’** **͏** **m** **sure** **͞** **the** **͝** **re** **͠** **al** **Al** **̛** **cor** **̕** **wo** **̧** **ul** **̶** **d** **͠** **n’t** **h** **̶** **a** **͡** **ve an** **** **y i** **** **s** **͝** **sues** **ge** **͡** **tt** **̶** **ing** **̵** **rid of** **͡** **uppi** **** **ty b** **̷** **r** **** **at** **̢** **s like** **̷** **y** **͞** **o** **̢** **u** **̨** **rs** **̨** **e** **̕** **lf** **͡,** ” the actor snarled. Belle was paralyzed in the air; panic was racing through her as she struggled to get out of the magic holding her. “ **A** **̢** **n** **͞d** **I** **̕** **do** **͡** **n’** **̷** **t** **̴** **need to fac** **̡** **e** **** **y** **̡** **ou** **̵** **in** **͝** **pers** **̵** **o** **̨** **n** **̶** **to d** **̢** **o t** **͠** **hat.** **͝** ”

It all happened in an instant.

‘Alcor’ snapped his fingers.

A metallic spike shot forth from the hole in the wall.

Darkness flew.

Belle screamed.

Orrie hadn’t the ability to breathe as he watched the spike pierce into the opposite wall. Then his gaze slowly, ever so slowly drifted to the velvety cocoon of wings that had scooped up Belle and had carried her to safety. They unwrapped to reveal Belle clutching tightly to her twin, eyes still widened by how close she had been to losing her life.

Dipper’s golden irises snapped to the imposter. Even through the illusion the fake showed true terror at the sight of the real Alcor. It was something inhuman to see him hide it shortly after behind a mask of arrogance.

“ **Illu** **s** **̶** **i** **͞** **on** **͏** **̷** **spe** **͠** **ll** **̶** **s** **̡** **t** **̸** **oo? I h** **̷** **ave** **͠** **t** **͞** **o a** **̛** **dm** **̷** **i** **̷** **t** **͏, Dipp** **͟** **e** **̧** **r Ste** **͟** **rl** **̨** **ing, be** **̴** **t** **̴** **ween** **this** **͠** **a** **̛** **nd y** **̡** **our** **̢** **sk** **̷** **ills in** **̕** **f** **͞** **ire** **̢** **co** **͠** **n** **̷** **juri** **̷** **n** **̵** **g, y** **our m** **̢** **aste** **͏** **r** **̶** **y of m** **̸** **a** **** **gic a** **̧** **s** **̶** **t** **̶** **o** **͡** **unds even** **** **me. Bu** **t** **̕** ******no** **̶** **ne** **͠** **can** **͞** **be** **** **st** **̵** **m** **̕** **e in** **̴** **my for** **̷** **te** **͟.** ” But illusions could not have freed Belle. Orrie took a tentative step back, away from the twins on the ground and the imposter before them. “ **Nice try** **** **to ca** **** **tch** **̕** **me off** **̨** **gu** **͝** **ard** **̨. B** **͟** **u** **̴** **t** **̢** **̧** **i** **̕** **f yo** **** **u were th** **̴** **e** **̧** **re** **͠** **al** **͟** **Alco** **͞** **r** **͏** **you** **** **w** **̴** **o** **̧** **uld’ve** **͡** **be** **͞** **en ab** **̨** **l** **̡** **e** **̕** **t** **o** **fi** **** **nd us** **̴** **b** **̷** **y n** **͡** **ow, no** **͞** **t** **͞** **wan** **͡** **der thes** **̢** **e** **̷** **͞** **hal** **̸** **ls an** **͟** **d** **̸** **search** **̴** **i** **̸** **ng** **̧** **̡** **fo** **̧** **r** **̨** **͡** **clu** **͟** **e** **̴** **s li** **** **k** **̶** **e** **̛** **̶** **a** **̵** **h** **̨** **ea** **͝** **dles** **͝** **s ch** **̷** **i** **** **c** **͢** **ken** **̨.** ”

_Us?_ Orrie felt his blood run cold.

“ **Y** **** **e** **̧** **s** **̢, ‘u** **̴** **s** **͠’,** ” the fake turned to Orrie; the boy hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “ **You** **̶** **̕** **t** **̕** **h** **͞** **ink I** **͞** **d** **̢** **idn** **͏** **’t** **** **h** **̢** **av** **͏** **e** **inside** **͏** **hel** **͏** **p** **͞ pulli** **̢** **ng** **of** **͞** **f** **̕ t** **͞** **he** **̕** **s** **̸** **e mur** **̢** **de** **̶** **rs? Yo** **̸** **u** **̛** **reall** **͝** **y** **̢** **͡** **b** **̢** **elieve ev** **͞** **er** **̷** **yone he** **̶** **re** **͞** **is wor** **̢** **th tr** **̶** **u** **̛** **s** **͡** **ting** **?** ” He grinned as he gestured toward the Sterlings. “ **A** **̡** **re** **̢** **_t_** ** _͠_** ** _hey_** **wo** **͟** **rth** **̷** ******tr** **͝** **u** **̷** **s** **̷** **ti** **̷** **n** **̢** **g** **̵? T** **** **hey nev** **̵** **er o** **͠** **n** **͡** **ce** **͝** **to** **͝** **l** **͢** **d y** **̛** **ou the** **̢** **y c** **** **ou** **̨** **ld use thi** **̢** **s** ******͟** **l** **̨** **evel of mag** **̵** **ic** **̛, m** **͡** **agi** **̸** **c t** **͠** **ha** **̨t** **c** **͝** **ou** **̴** **l** **̴** **d** **̡** **ha** **͝** **v** **͡** **e save** **̛** **d** **** **the** **o** **̸** **t** **̢** **h** **͢** **er** **̸s.** ” The illusion started to fade away. “ **Ho** **** **w** **̕** **m** **͢** **a** **̸** **n** **̡** **y** **͏** **do** **** **es** **̷** **th** **** **at** **mak** **̷** **e de** **̵** **a** **͝** **d n** **̛** **ow** **̸? F** **iv** **̶** **e to** **̵** **o** **** **m** **** **a** **̛** **ny** **̢? M** **̧** **ay** **͞** **b** **̶** **e** **͡** **̨** **y** **͟** **ou’** **̧** **ll** **͡** **be** **͝** **n** **͡** **ext.** ” And he was gone.

Dipper stood; his eyes were changing back to normal and his wings folded and appeared to melt away inside him. “We need to leave this area. I can’t pinpoint where he’s projecting from.” He helped Belle to stand.

“You were right, bro,” she muttered, eyes staring at the floor. “We should’ve done your plan first. I just didn’t think it’d get this far…” She looked over, only then remembering about Orrie. “Are you alright?” Orrie only stared back. Panic. Confusion. Worry. Terror. There wasn’t a single emotion that could describe him at that moment. He opened his mouth, his jaw trembling slightly.

“What…?” Dipper tensed. Then he approached. Orrie tried to take another step back only to find himself paralyzed in place. His mind was too overwhelmed to do much of anything. It was only when Dipper was in front of him he spoke again. “ _Who_ are you?”

“…Alcor the Dreambender. Now come on; we can’t stay here.”

* * *

The trip to the supply closet felt like an eternal march. Orrie was dimly impressed he could remember the way back to it, leading the twins through the halls quickly. When they reached the closet, he pulled open the hidden door.

“How’d you even find this place?” Belle asked, climbing down the ladder after him. “And we’re sure they can’t spy on us in here?” Orrie didn’t respond.

“It’s safe,” Dipper assured her. “Even without my doing there’s enough magical interference to screw up any placed machinery down here.” He landed beside them, turning to Orrie. “And now that we know no one will eavesdrop on us…” Having been given time to sort through his thoughts and emotions, the formulation of resentment was quite evident on Orrie’s face, even in the near darkness.

The boy didn’t say anything for a while. So Dipper continued. “I know you’re wondering why we—”

Orrie spoke lowly, bitterly. “That fake you was right.” Dipper was taken aback by those words.

“Okay…wasn’t expecting this.”

“Why should I trust you? You…you could have saved us! You could have stopped all this…but you didn’t. I thought you…” Orrie tried to swallow the agonizing lump growing in his throat. “Is this all a game to you?” Dipper didn’t respond right away.

“At first,” he eventually said, but he quickly clarified himself when Orrie shot him a glare filled with more hurt and anger. “That is, it was a game to me as much as it was to you. We seriously came here to have fun.”  
  
“Then why didn’t you do anything!?” Orrie cried, “You knew, didn’t you, from the start? When Ms. Wheatly died– you knew that wasn’t an act. But you kept playing along like the staff did.”  
  
“We needed to,” Belle interrupted, earning Orrie’s tearful glare.

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Because the legend about this mansion has some truth behind it,” answered Dipper. “Like we’ve said before: I’m meant to be a prisoner here. I can sense the wards lining the foundation and supports of this manor. They’re admittedly powerful, and my powers…well, they’re not exactly sealed, more like restricted. It’s actually quite infuriating, really, what little I can do.”

“Can’t you just get rid of them?” Orrie questioned him, only a hint of his anger subsiding. “I thought you couldn’t be bound. Why not burn the place down if you’re so desperate?”  
  
“Because I told you we came here to have fun. I was willing to put up with the hindrance for a couple of days. Wouldn’t be the first time doing so, either. And, with my powers sealed, I’d considered it a bonus that my omniscience wouldn’t be ruining the mystery for me for once.”  
  
Orrie frowned. “You have omniscience but you didn’t know any of this was going to happen?”

“Because omniscience doesn’t work that way,” Dipper growled, “If it did, I’d have burned down this mansion the second we got here. You think I’d purposely put Belle and myself into this mess? Last night when I saw Ms. Wheatly dead I knew instantly, and I told Belle what I suspected: that a staff member had killed her, likely my fake.”  
  
“And you didn’t decide to do anything then!?”

“Because I asked him not to!” Belle interjected, her shout causing Orrie to shut up. “It…the energy it would take to overpower the wards would bring this whole place down, and Dipper admitted there was no guarantee that he’d be able to save all of you if that happened. It was me who asked him to hold off, to see if complying for just a while longer might save everyone. I figured if he slowly gathered energy in secret while the rest of us acted oblivious he’d have the strength eventually to take down the cultists. But…” Belle looked down, avoiding eye contact with her brother, “Dug died. Then Cliff. And now the Tosettis. And that’s all my fault. I was wrong. I wish I could go back in time and slap myself for being so idiotic, but I can’t. Maybe once we get home I’ll have my meltdown, but right now I’m just focusing on saving you and the others alongside Dipper.”

Orrie continued to frown at the two, anger and broken trust almost overriding all sense of rationalizing. They should have come out with the truth from the beginning, then maybe all the guests would be working together to get out alive. Maybe Dug and Cliff and the Tosettis would still be with them. Maybe they’d have the confidence of getting out knowing Alcor was on their side.

Or maybe Belle was right and the cultists would double down on the wards and stop him from fighting back. But Alcor had always been described as a creature unable to be contained; being trapped shouldn’t be an issue for him. Plus…he was a demon; ultimately, what did human lives matter to him? Was he telling the truth that he no longer saw this as a game, or was he just saying that to make Orrie think he cared about them? But then again, he would have already left if that were the case—

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” Orrie pressed his back to the wall, head leaning back. “I just. Want. To go home.” The anger melted into weariness, and he slid down to the ground. “I want to go home. I want to trust you.”

“You can,” Belle stepped closer and squatted down. “I can’t promise everything will be alright, but I can promise that we’ll look out for you. For each other. Because that’s what friends do.” Orrie studied her, observed how her tired smile still shone with hope. She held out her hand, and after a second or two of debate, Orrie took it, rising. He glanced at Dipper and saw how the boy also shared that mirroring smile. He tried to smile back. He must have succeeded because Belle’s grin grew just a bit brighter.

“Alright. No more secrets—or at least pertaining to our predicament. We need to come up with a new plan.”

“I thought you were going with his plan now since yours didn’t work,” said Orrie.

“My plan still needs time to pull off. We may have disabled the rune in the attic, but the various other wards embedded in the manor’s foundation are still hindering me from destroying them without potentially killing the rest of you. I still need more power to get the remaining guests out safely.”

“And we still don’t know why the cultists want us to solve the mystery in the first place,” added Belle. “It’d be one thing if they were searching for hidden treasure, but they wouldn’t need us to look for it. They have the rest of the year to do that without any interruptions.”  
  
“And this attraction has been going on for years,” said Orrie, “So why now with us?” He inhaled sharply. “Is it because that fake now knows you’re the real deal?”

Dipper frowned. “Unlikely. He started killing long before we found the attic, so we were going to end up being his targets. And I don’t think he’s fully convinced I’m Alcor.”

Belle blinked. “Wait, why not?”

“He hasn’t sent out anyone to get us yet. He knows we’ve disabled the rune in the attic but haven’t gone to search for him. He’s aware I could find him if I wanted to. I don’t want him to know it’s me; that’s why I lied and said I couldn’t pinpoint his location. Better to have him underestimate our abilities than suspect the worst. He’s underground somewhere, but I can sense that this tunnel won’t lead us to him.”

“It won’t; it leads to the greenhouse.” The twins stared at Orrie. “I…might have explored a bit while waiting for you guys to finish eating breakfast.” He was surprised when he heard Dipper chuckle.

“I would have done the same.” Orrie allowed a small grin.

“So for now we just let that creep keep thinking it was all an act?” Dipper nodded at his twin. “Fine. But you have to hurry up, bro-bro. We can’t keep waiting much longer.”  
  
“Hopefully we won’t have to.” He nodded toward the ladder, and the other two understood. They climbed back out of the tunnel, listening carefully for any nearing footsteps before exiting the closet. Dipper led the way back to the foyer. Orrie felt a surge of remorse when he saw the two bodies missing. Where had they gone, and who took them? “It’s late,” Dipper spoke up suddenly.

“Huh?” Orrie fumbled through his pockets for his phone and stared at the time. It was only 6:17PM. “It’s not that late,” he muttered.

“You’re exhausted,” Dipper said, leading the way up the stairs. “You—” He paused about five steps from the top, staring at the step in front of him. Without another word he jumped over it and motioned for them to do the same. Belle did so after spotting what her brother had. Orrie saw it too when he reached it: a thin gap could barely be seen just beneath the tread nosing. “You didn’t see it, Orrie—” Orrie looked up when Dipper started talking to him, “—But Jackson’s foot was sliced right above his heel. Most certainly a blade cut his tendon, and he pulled his wife down with him when he tumbled.”

Orrie could only let out a tiny “Oh.” A small part of him now wished Dipper never told him.

They made it to the Sterlings’ room shortly after. “You guys rest,” Dipper instructed, standing close to the door after they’d entered. “I’ll keep watch from outside since I don’t need to sleep.”

“But tomorrow’s the last day,” Orrie argued, “What if they decide to kill us if we don’t solve the mystery in time? We should continue looking for clues.”

“Trust me, you’re both a lot more tired than you realize. And the stress won’t make you think properly; we all need to be at peak mental condition to solve the remaining hints. You can have my bed tonight.”

“Not like I’ll be able to sleep after the day we’ve had,” the boy muttered. Inside, however, he was grateful Dipper was letting him have his bed; he was downright terrified of splitting up from them now despite his lingering misgivings.

Dipper stepped out of the room, locking the door behind him. “And make sure you rest up too,” Belle called after him. There was a muffled reply of coming inside if nothing was happening before Belle sighed and climbed onto her bed, placing the grappling hook she still had with her on the nightstand. “No point changing; probably going to get straight to business once we wake up.” She turned to Orrie, an odd expression on her face that held neither a smile nor a frown. “So…what do you really think of him?”

“Of your brother?”

“Yeah. That look you’re making; you’ve had it ever since we’ve left the tunnel. I can’t describe it– do you still not believe us? Because my broseph was being open with everything he told you.”

“I—” He hesitated. “I don’t… _distrust_ him.” He paused, biting his lower lip.

“But you don’t trust him completely either.” Orrie nodded. Belle smiled. “Well, that’s more than what I was hoping for.”

Orrie climbed onto Dipper’s bed. “It’s just that I don’t know how to see him anymore. He’s similar to how my grandpa described him—all things considered—but he’s not as…” He chuckled nervously. “Don’t be offended, but your brother doesn’t seem as caring about the others’ deaths as you or me. And he’s not exactly trying his best to keep tabs on the other guests to make sure they’re safe either. I’d thought he’d be a bit more sympathetic.”

Belle seemed to mull over his words, bobbing her head slightly to the side. When she spoke it was with complete understanding of what he meant. “Dipper’s old.” Orrie stared dumbly at her simple response.

“I…figured?”

She smiled so pityingly. “He’s really old. Like, really, _really_ old. He’s witnessed a lot of death. He tells me about it sometimes—what he’s seen and done and watched others do. He has to seem uncaring, ya’ know, given what he is. But I’ve seen Dipper cry those nights after a long summons. He’s not unsympathetic; he just views mortal lives differently than we do. But I swear we’re both trying our absolute hardest to save everyone.”

Orrie glanced away, the edges of his eyes itching. He blinked the feeling away. “I guess you would have a ton of confidence in him since you’re pretty much his Mizar.” He quickly looked back up. “W-wait, I didn’t mean that offensively. I just meant you’d have a better understanding of him than others.”

“Of course!” Belle nodded, “But not because I’m Mizar. Dipdop’s my twin brother. And, yeah, he _saved_ me because I’m a Mizar, but he _stayed_ with me because of who I am: my own person who makes my own choices and decisions. I’m no more or less special than any other twin sister.”

Orrie could feel the last of his distrust bubble away as he chuckled lowly. “And that’s what I heard about the most: how human he is. He cares for the people he likes. He’s fun and weird and…nice.” He reached for his backpack and pulled out his sketchbook, turning to a particular page. He passed it to Belle. “Remember back on the bus when I said I wouldn’t summon him except in danger. Well, that wasn’t entirely truthful. For the longest I wanted to summon him for something else.” He watched as Belle stared at the drawing, his own artwork he made at the age of four when he first heard his grandfather’s cult-adventurous days.

Belle grinned, and Orrie could tell it was not in teasing of the childish drawing. “Let me guess: you, your grandpa, and my brother having ice cream at an amusement park?” Orrie laughed, nodding, and Belle beamed brighter. “Bro’s ego is big enough without the fan art, but he’d love it nonetheless. You did a pretty good job. But I was under the impression you’ve never met.”

“We haven’t. That was what I wanted to do if I ever got the chance to meet him. I never wanted to summon him for fame or fortune; I just wanted to be his friend.” He lay back, staring at the ceiling. “I used to think Alcor didn’t have a lot of friends long after the Transcendence. You hear a lot about his allies shortly after the event took place, like the first Mizar and the Woodsman, but almost nothing of them after that. I used to believe his first friends were human, which was why he didn’t have many left because they all had died. And it also explained his dislike for human sacrifices. So my reasoning, as a kid, was he liked hanging with the Seekers of Starlight because they had become his new friends and he wasn’t lonely anymore. And…I could relate to that.”

Belle gently closed the sketchbook and handed it back to Orrie. “And do you still want to be his friend?”

“I…yeah. I still want to.” Belle smiled.

“Thanks. Dipper could use some more friends in his life. Someone to drag his butt out of the house every once in a while.” She moved and positioned herself under the covers. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really sleepy all of a sudden. I think I’ll hit the hay a bit early.”

“I think I’ll join you,” Orrie yawned. Dipper was right; the exhaustion hit faster and harder than he was expecting. He clambered beneath the sheets, already his eyelids growing too heavy to keep open. Sleep came easy enough, but it was staying within the realm of slumber that became a challenge when the nightmares started. Of shadows and spiders and chilling laughter chasing him through endless hallways. But one by one they melted away until he could finally catch his breath, could stop and curl up and drift away into peaceful obliviousness.

* * *

Orrie awoke the next morning feeling completely rejuvenated. He sat up and stretched, seeing Belle do the same, her hair a slightly ruffled mess. He climbed out of bed, grabbing his backpack, already ready for the day. They needed to be.

After waiting for Belle to fix her hair and toss her makeshift weapon into his bag so she could free up both hands, the two only then noticed Dipper inside the room, sitting and leaned back against the wall by the door. It looked like he was dozing.

“I thought you didn’t need to sleep,” Orrie said.

Dipper didn’t even stir. “I don’t. But I still need to recuperate.” He peeked an eye open. “Sleep well?”

“I—yeah, I think I did. I feel refreshed, anyway. I want to say I had a nightmare, but I can’t remember it at all.” Dipper smiled lightly before finally standing.

“Alright, we have to move fast. We’ve got—” Belle quickly checked her phone, “—a little less than six hours to find the last four clues.”

“That’s not a lot of time,” Orrie said, frowning. Yet they had no other choice. _Wait, four?_ That’s right; he forgot to tell them about the clue he found earlier. “Oh, yeah. Guys, I—” There was the sudden sound of a door slamming and rushing footsteps racing down the stairs. By the time the three reacted and Dipper yanked open the door, the person running was long gone. As they hurried down the east wing, Orrie could see all the other bedroom doors were shut.

Belle was the first to reach and look over the banister. “Was that Zahia? Is she is danger?”

Dipper narrowed his eyes. “It has to be; her room’s closest to the stairs. Let’s hurry—she could be running right into a trap.”

They sprinted down the stairs two at a time, watchful to leap over the step with the hidden blade.

“Zahia, wait!”

“You need to stop, Zahia!”

“Please listen to us!” But their shouts yielded no response, only the distant echoes of shoes pounding against polished floor in haste to get away. “Do you suppose it was one of the staff members that scared her?” wondered Orrie as he and the twins turned right at the end of the north hall. They’ve been down this path before, so it was no surprise when they stumbled upon the various doors leading to different rooms. Zahia could be hiding in any one of them.

“No idea, but she’s definitely near here.” answered Dipper. He took the lead. “Zahia?” They walked slowly down the hallway and listened carefully through each door they passed for any noise.

“It’s only us,” Orrie called out.

“We want to help you,” Belle added. She paused in front of one door, waiting for some sort of response. “We’re trying to get everyone out of here, but you need to stop hiding.”

“Quit indulging him!” Definitely Zahia, and she was close. “All of you! Just leave me alone!” Her voice was coming from the end of the hall. Picking up the pace, they made for the door at the very end.

The second door before that one opened up suddenly. “WHA!” A hand had reached out and snatched Belle in right as she was about to pass it. Orrie’s reaction was far slower than Dipper’s; in less than a second the boy found himself pushed out of the way as Dipper had already spun around and practically flew through the door. Torn for only a split second, Orrie forsake finding Zahia to go rescue Belle. He ran through the door moments after Dipper had. The teen—demon—was standing in the middle of the room, just at the edge of a trapdoor leading down into darkness.

Orrie had no idea how far down it led.

“Wait here,” Dipper instructed before jumping in. He was swallowed up by the shadows in a matter of seconds, but it fortunately wasn’t long before Orrie heard his voice again. “It’s not that far. I’ll catch you.”

“Okay.” Orrie was about to jump in when a strong hand grabbed him from behind, covering his mouth. “ _Mmfhm!?_ ” He was pulled back from the edge.

“Orrie!”

“Don’t worry, he’s safe with me,” an arrogant voice called out to him. “Go rescue your sister. I’ll make sure nothing happens to the lad.” Orrie struggled in Siegfried’s grip, wondering where he’d come from, but he knew the man was right. Of the two of them, Belle was the one in graver danger. Still, it was a bit disheartening when he heard Dipper’s riled growl and his footsteps leading away from them. “And as for you.” There was a soft click of metal, and Orrie instantly froze when a cool thin barrel was pressed firmly against his temple. “I’ll stand by my word nothing will happen to you as long as you do what I say.”

Tears of fear were springing to his eyes. His breaths grew quick and shallow, and he could hear the high-pitched ring of blood pumping in his ears. Despite this, Orrie nodded slowly. “You are going to hand over that key you found.” Orrie didn’t move, so Siegfried released his hold. “I’m waiting.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He didn’t care if his voice was tight; he honestly had no idea what key Siegfried was referring to. They already used all the ones they’d found to open the clues. The gun pressed harder against his skull, and Orrie let out a terrified whimper. “I swear! You can check my bag! You can check our rooms, too! I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.” Siegfried didn’t say anything. Then he grabbed Orrie’s arm—finally lowering the gun—and dragged him out of the room. A pang of fear shot through the boy as he was pulled even further away from his friends.

“Don’t think I haven’t already,” Siegfried said as he led Orrie back down the hall. “How else would I’ve known the key was missing? Zahia’s was the only room I hadn’t checked yesterday, but I got fed up waiting for that stupid woman to leave and barged in myself.” They reached the foyer, and Siegfried roughly shoved Orrie ahead of him. “This is your last chance, boy: did you take the key or not? And don’t bother lying saying you haven’t been looking for clues.”

“No.” Orrie didn’t know how more blunt he could sound. “We took nothing. Our efforts really have been toward trying to find a way to escape, and we think we’re close. We don’t care about the mystery.”

“But I do.” And Orrie couldn’t help staring at the man with incredulity. Siegfried was clearly insane if he thought the murderers were still planning to hand over the cash prize for solving their clues. But insanity aside, greed could lead to unpredictability and desperation, and Orrie hazarded the quickest of glances at the pistol held at the man’s side. Siegfried held his chin thoughtfully, pondering on something. Then he smiled almost cheerfully; a cold chill shot down Orrie’s spine. “It seems we are both in a bit of a bind. Your friend needs rescuing, and I need that final clue. Surely the best method for us to achieve our goals is to work together, wouldn’t you say?”

This was hardly fair, and if Siegfried wasn’t armed right now Orrie would’ve made a run for it just to get away from him. The murderers were bad enough, but to find there were people out there who truly valued money over human lives was near sickening. An emotion stirred within him as he clenched his teeth, one he wasn’t wholly familiar with. It wasn’t anger exactly…was this rage? It was a frightening compulsion to resist lashing out against the person who’d dare threaten him after leaving his friends to fend for themselves.

It was a wonder he managed to keep the ire so well-hidden.

“Alright. I’ll help you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

Siegfried’s smile widened. “That’s a good boy. I knew you were a lad with some smarts. Which you can now put to good use.” He neared again, his hand reaching inside his pocket, and Orrie tensed in reflex. But the man only pulled out a scroll and handed it to Orrie. Despite himself, curiosity flickered through the whirlwind of distrust and rage, and he grabbed the paper and unfurled it to read:

“ _Nod’s old shoe can’t travel far._ ”

Orrie read the hint over and over, burning it into his memory before handing it back to Siegfried. “I don’t know all the words to the rhyme, but I think I know the gist of it. It’s the one with the three fishermen who fished for the star herrings?”

“That is correct,” replied Siegfried, taking the scroll. Orrie pondered hard. His first guess would have been to search the beds too, the closest to the ‘wooden shoe’ in the rhyme. But Siegfried confirmed none of them was hiding the clue. Maybe there was another bed somewhere? There was the cot in the infirmary, but Orrie had a strong suspicion a room wouldn’t be hiding two clues at once. Furthermore, he, Belle, and Dipper did a fairly thorough job of scouring the manor; they hadn’t seen any other beds that he could recall. “Perhaps what we are searching for isn’t a normal sort of ‘bed’.”

“What do you mean?”

“The rhyme makes direct reference to a trundle bed. What we need to find, therefore, might be a bed that has a hidden compartment.”

“That’s…probably it,” Orrie mumbled. But something didn’t feel right. None of the hints they’d found so far had clear-cut and obvious answers, and if a bed was specifically mentioned in the rhyme, then a bed with a secret compartment was too simple a solution. Inside a shoe, for that matter then, was also not likely to be it.

Siegfried frowned. “You don’t sound convinced.” Orrie hesitated, not sure what response might set Siegfried off. He fumbled for the words.

“It’s n-not a—you’re not wro—the answer can’t—there has to be more to it,” he finally managed to get out. “I just can’t think of what.” The man nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, you’re right. None of the solutions has been that easy to solve. You wouldn’t have known to go to the kitchen if you didn’t have some basic understanding of demonology.”  
  
“Yeah,” nodded Orrie absentmindedly before freezing when he realized what he’d just done. Siegfried folded his arms, glaring at Orrie with further accusation and a bit of self-satisfaction.

“Like I said, I knew you were looking for clues. But thanks for the confirmation.” He gestured toward one of the halls with a jerk of his head. “Perhaps we’ll be sparked with inspiration if we look around.” Orrie took that as his cue to take the lead. A grim voice reasoned he was probably to serve as a shield in case there were more traps set by the murderer. As they walked down a hall full of armored suits, both of them on alert for any suspicious noises or movement, Orrie couldn’t stop from pondering something.

“Why did you scare Zahia out of her room? Couldn’t you have just told her to step out while you checked something? You could have lied.”

“You know as well as I do, boy, that she won’t listen to anything we tell her. Scaring her was the fastest way of removing her.”

_Or causing a commotion,_ the boy thought darkly. A commotion to lead others into a deadly trap.

_“ **You**_ ** _̶_** **_̕_** ** _t_** ** _̕_** ** _h_** ** _͞_** ** _ink I_** ** _͞_** ** _d_** ** _̢_** ** _idn_** ** _͏_** ** _’t_** ** __** ** _h_** ** _̢_** ** _av_** ** _͏_** ** _e_** **_inside_** ** _͏_** ** _hel_** ** _͏_** ** _p_** ** _͞ pulli_** ** _̢_** ** _ng_** ** _of_** ** _͞_** ** _f_** ** _̕ t_** ** _͞_** ** _he_** ** _̕_** ** _s_** ** _̸_** ** _e mur_** ** _̢_** ** _de_** ** _̶_** ** _rs?_** _”_

Orrie thickly swallowed the tight lump in his throat at the sudden realization. It made perfect sense now. His beforehand knowledge of the manor, his absences, his indifference to the deaths. Siegfried was—

No, couldn’t start freaking out now. What would Siegfried do if he did not solve this hint in time? Think, think! What sort of bed wouldn’t travel far? Logically speaking, all of them since beds couldn’t move. But they could _be_ moved, so it had to be a bed that could not be moved. So one bolted to the ground? No, no, that couldn’t be it…could it? No, that’d be ridiculous. Orrie was starting to panic, fearing his thoughts were leading to dead ends. His eyes darted around for some sort of sign. But the only things in this hall were a vase, a painting of a shepherd with his flock, and a window peering out into a garden. Even from here he could tell how immaculately the flowers were arranged in such a stunning display, like a rainbow had fallen to earth and laid delicately on that patch of land.                                 

Wait…the flowers…that were in a flower bed…

Orrie’s eyes widened as his brain reeled to snap together  new possibilities. Siegfried was right; they weren’t looking for a normal bed. It was something else entirely. The nursery rhyme was constantly making references to fishing, so something to do with the sea. Sea…water…a seabed!

“You found the answer?” Orrie looked up, not realizing he’d stopped in his tracks.

“Maybe,” he tried to mask the excitement of solving yet another hint, “But there isn’t a lake or river anywhere on the property, is there?”

“What? What on– of course! Why didn’t I think of that!” Even he looked a tad impressed by how quickly Orrie solved the hint. “But there isn’t any body of water near here. And as far as I remember, I haven’t seen any paintings with rivers or lakes.”

_Then where else could the clue be?_ Orrie just knew they were on the right track somehow. He stared out the window again. “This may be a stretch, but do you think the clue might be in the pool?” With how it was constructed it vaguely resembled the shallow reaches of a lagoon. He watched as Siegfried drummed his fingers against his side.

“It’s as reasonable a guess as any. Well, then, hurry on.” Orrie held back his glare as he directed them through the kitchen and outside to where the manor’s pool was located. The morning sky was  more comforting grey than blue, but it still seemed wholly oblivious to the dark intents lurking inside the luxurious mansion.

The crystal-clear water rippled almost excitedly as they approached, a soft gale disturbing the surface and causing all the white lotuses to bob gently. Orrie peered over the side. If he squinted just right, he could almost imagine the bottom of the pool as a rocky river bed or something of the sort. “It seems they were expecting us,” Siegfried uttered, his attention to the side. Orrie turned to see what he was looking at. A large towel, folded, with a pair of goggles rested in one of the pool chairs.

After a wordless gesture from Siegfried, Orrie grabbed the goggles. Rolling up his pant legs and removing his shirt, bag, and glasses before putting on the goggles, he took a deep breath and jumped in. Around him were large stones lining the pool walls. He swam around trying to find something out of the ordinary, but in all honesty he had no idea what he was looking for. Nothing seemed out of place. After a few more seconds, he had to resurface.

“Did you find anything resembling a head?”

Orrie shook the droplets from his hair. “Huh?”

“From the rhyme.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nod represents a child’s head as they sleep. Did you find anything resembling that?”  
  
“I can check again.” The boy didn’t wait for a reply. He dove again, now with an inkling of what they needed. And sure enough, nestled near the bottom of the pool, was a stone that had the faint image of a sleeping face. Orrie grabbed it, wriggling it loose and pulling it out with little trouble. On the stone’s backside were an embedded key and etched words, but Orrie couldn’t quite read them. He swam back. Siegfried helped him out once he saw the stone in the boy’s grasp. But when he realized he wasn’t going to be receiving any more assistance, Orrie let the man take the rock as he stomped his soppy self to the chair to grab the towel and dry himself off. He quickly put his shirt back on and stepped as quietly as he could back toward the manor, backpack in hand.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Dang it– busted. Orrie turned back around. “I helped you find the hint; now I’m going back to help my friends.”  
  
“We’re not finished yet. We still need to find the clue to this key.”  
  
“But—!”

“You wouldn’t want something to happen to them, hm? We better hurry and find that clue then.” Orrie cast Siegfried the darkest glower he could muster, though the man clearly wasn’t bothered. He was in control, and Orrie knew he was helpless but to go along. Even from this distance and with the stone in Siegfried’s hand turned slightly away, Orrie could just make out the words engraved on its backside:

“ _In the four kingdoms, who is stacked on top?_ ”

Orrie racked his brain. There were no nursery rhymes in his memory that involved four kingdoms. Though it nonetheless rang a bell. “Four kingdoms. What rhyme has four kingdoms?”

Siegfried smirked. “Think a bit more broadly, boy. There is something else you know of that has four kingdoms. Come.” And for once he took the lead, directing Orrie back inside while still keeping a watchful eye over him. Orrie didn’t mind too much; he was still trying to understand what Siegfried meant. He only grew more and more confused when the man led them to a place they’d passed before– a room akin to a family game room. There was a small square poker table dead center in the room with numerous waist-high shelves stacked with board games lining the walls. A monitor hung in a ceiling corner, and for the first time since arriving to the manor Orrie spotted what was undoubtedly a security camera—its circular case and lens almost blending in with the row of billiard balls mounted on the wall. He averted his eyes hastily, though if someone were really watching them they’d have already seen him staring.

Siegfried approached the table. “Figure it out yet?” Orrie neared him, blinking at what he saw. A stack of playing cards sat in the middle with four sets of three cards positioned around the table where players would have sat. The sets—each with a king, a queen, and a jack—were of a particular suit. Orrie gasped, finally understanding. The four kingdoms were referring to the four suits in a deck of playing cards. Then there was only one rhyme he could barely remember that corresponded.

“The Queen of Hearts,” he said. He frowned. Title aside, he knew almost nothing about that rhyme, just remembered hearing it from somewhere as a child, most of the words now lost to him. He hoped the markings on the table would spark more of his memory, but they only confused him further to what they needed to do. Above each set of cards were three boxes arranged into shapes: the sets with the Hearts and Spades had vertical columns while the Clubs and Diamonds had pyramids, with the pyramid over the Diamonds being upside-down.

“I’m pretty sure I understand now,” Siegfried said. A greedy smile was forming. “Yes, yes– I’ve got it! We must arrange the cards in such a way that the one who comes out on top _is_ on top.”

“What does that mean? And how do we figure that out for the other three suits? I thought the rhyme was only about the Hearts.”

“Hmph, figures,” Siegfried scoffed. “You only learned the first stanza. That’s to be expected since there’s still much contention as to whether the other three were ever part of the original rhyme. But to summarize them all…” He picked up the nearest card, the Queen of Hearts. “The Queen of Hearts makes some tarts, ‘til the Knave comes along and steals them.” He placed the card in the middle box in the column, and there came a distinct sound of something clicking open inside the table. “The King, of course, demands them back, makes the Knave come home and return some.”

He placed the King of Hearts in the box above the Queen and the Jack in the one below it. Two more clicks resounded. Siegfried moved to the next side of the table. “The King of Spades kisses the maids, but to the Queen this won’t at all sit. So the Knave begs them free, but the Queen, you do see, lets neither of them forget.” This time he placed the Jack above the Queen and the King below. Three more clicks. Orrie, now more intrigued than before, watched intently as Siegfried continued.

“The Queen of Clubs so often snubs the King to his face in spite. The King retorts, but the Knave stays mute, his response the only one that’s right.” Siegfried placed the Jack at the top of the pyramid and the Queen and King in the boxes below. The clicks this time were much louder, and Orrie suspected the mechanism was near fully unlocked.

“The Diamond King, when he sings, spouts naught but praise to his wife. The Knave makes jests when she woos back, so from him the King takes his life.” The Jack was placed below the King and Queen, and the final latches clicked, allowing a small drawer to roll out. Inside it was the fifth clue.

Before Orrie had the chance to even consider reaching for the small booklet, Siegfried’s hand swooped down and snatched it. He opened it with the key and held the clue up to read, high enough that Orrie could not see its contents. “At last! That reward is mine!” And he ran out of the room without a glance back, the booklet still in hand. If Orrie didn’t have more pressing matters he would’ve felt anger for being cheated out of the clue. Instead he was nothing more than relieved and anxious to find his friends. He too raced out of the room, trying his best to remember the way back to the room with the trapdoor. He eventually found it and cautiously stepped inside. Dipper and Belle were, unsurprisingly, not there, meaning Orrie had to go down and find them. Bracing himself, Orrie jumped through the hole.

It wasn’t that far down, just like Dipper had said. But the utter darkness greatly disoriented Orrie, and he blindly but hurriedly pulled out his phone from his backpack. Using it as a flashlight wasn’t quite as usefully as he would’ve hoped, but it was better than nothing. He walked slowly down the long corridor, the stone floor and walls so slick to the touch. He froze when he thought he heard footsteps rushing behind him, but when he turned around he saw nothing but darkness. The light from his phone just couldn’t travel that far.

He walked with deliberate steps, his ears keenly attuned to every sound heard. The path seemed to forever bend slightly, though every once in a while there would be a door or narrow hall branching off, but Orrie didn’t dare explore them. Dozens of eyes seemed to be watching his every move, and he was honestly more confused why nobody tried to attack him. It was when he was beginning to believe he was starting to walk in a circle he heard a grunt that came from a side hallway.

“Dipper? Belle?” No answer. Cautiously he walked down it. It led to a metallic door. Pushing that open he found himself in yet another stony, circular hall, but this one was lit entirely by lights hanging overhead. There were also more doors in this hall. And, even more curiously, a trail of water splotches leading away.

There was another groan. Orrie followed it and the trail, being guided into yet another small hallway. The groan sounded exactly like—

“Dipper!” The teen was supporting himself against the wall, one arm cradling the other. Wisps of smoke floated off of him as he struggled to keep his human visage intact; Orrie caught glimpses of skin melting away only to be regenerated soon after. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing,” he grunted, pushing himself off the wall. “It looks worse than it actually is.” Orrie still hurried over to him to provide him support. Dipper tried not to be too much of a burden as they continued down the hall. “It’s the staff. They’re able to spy on us from behind these walls, and they practically hosed me down with holy water the second I came in here. Those cultists must have run out because I haven’t seen any of them in a while. And, oh yeah– they’re definitely cultists, by the way.” He suddenly went quiet. “Um…why do you smell herbal?”

“Herbal?”

“Well, more flowery than herbal.”

_Flowery?_ Orrie remembered the lotuses that were in the swimming pool. “Blame Siegfried,” he grumbled. He himself didn’t think he smelled at all. “Is it bothering you?”

“I think?” Why was that a question? Orrie didn’t say anything, but he started to grow a bit worried by the troubled look Dipper had. The teen abruptly stood up straighter. “This way!” Grabbing Orrie’s wrist, he practically dragged him down two side corridors. But Orrie was starting to hear it too: the sound of gushing water. Orrie used his own feet to follow after, and they soon reached what appeared to be a storage room. Not even checking for traps, Orrie pushed it open.

Inside was Belle, tied up and bound to a chair. She was trapped inside a giant glass box, the kind that reminded Orrie of a magician’s box, filled to the brink with water. Perched on top of it—just outside the box and thus pouring through a hole on top—was a hose. Though it didn’t look special, Orrie would bet that was holy water flowing into the box. Despite the room being some sort of closet there was nothing Orrie could see that they could use to break the box.

Except…

Orrie snatched Belle’s grappling hook from his bag. He took aim at the base of the box and fired, cracking its corner. A small fireball from Dipper made it shatter , and the water rushed out like a rapid. They both heard the deep inhale for oxygen once the water was low enough. This was followed by coughing, and Dipper spread his wings, hovering over the water to untie his twin.

“Nearly…broke the world record…for longest without air,” Belle tried to chuckle; it came out way too forced. Dipper hissed as he tore the cable ties around her wrists. “Ouch!”

“Sorry!” he apologized, gentler with the ones on her ankles. He helped her to stand.

“Whoa…” Belle was a bit wobbly on her legs. “Ooh, my head is pounding. Hey, Dipper, think I could trade you a week’s worth of desserts to get rid of this headache?” As the two of them prepared for the deal, Orrie nearly jumped a foot when something cool and airy fluttered through his hair. He stared up, feeling like a complete fool when he realized it was just the vent having kicked on. Hiding his embarrassment he turned for the exit…and spotted just in time a shadow disappearing around the corner. And on the door was a note.

Silently, Orrie stepped over and took it. He read it quietly to himself. An iciness flowed through him when he turned the paper over. As discreetly as he could, he hid the note in his pocket.

“Did you see something?” This time Orrie did jump.

“Yeah,” he answered Dipper, “I think one of those cultists was spying on us.”

The older boy’s expression darkened. “Great. Perfect. They could be gathering as we speak.”  
  
“And we don’t even know the way out. Think you can blip us upstairs?” asked Belle. He bit his lower lip, hesitant.

“It’s possible. But it’ll be a very rough ride.”

“Better than nothing.” She linked hands with her brother. Dipper held out his other for Orrie, and the boy tentatively grabbed it. He— 

* * *

—instantly wanted to puke. One moment he was standing in the dungeon basement, the next he was sitting at the top of the foyer stairs in the manor, the part of his brain in charge of rationale on the fritz. It felt as if someone shoved him onto a rollercoaster—backwards—and had it go straight down at terminal velocity. Even Belle didn’t look like she trusted herself to stand.

Groaning, Orrie asked, “Is ‘blipping’ always this…” He couldn’t find the right word.

“Nauseating?” Dipper supplied. Heck, even he was woozy. “No. But don’t forget that this place is meant to keep me trapped inside. Wouldn’t be much of a prison if I could tesser freely.”

“We didn’t even have breakfast and I feel like hurling it all up,” moaned Belle. She finally stood and helped her brother up.

Orrie also got to his feet. “I think we should take a break.”

“Huh?” Both twins replied as one. Orrie grimaced.

“I’ve been running around with Siegfried the past hour, Belle nearly drowned, and Dipper, you’re weak from all that holy water plus the blipping _plus_ that fireball used to free Belle, I’m betting. It doesn’t have to be long, just a quick break to catch our breaths.” Neither said anything, clearly debating and weighing the options.

“Alright. Ten minutes.” Orrie and Belle agreed to that. The twins made for their room, but Dipper stopped when he noticed Orrie not following. “What’s wrong?”

“Noth—well…okay, I want to check something out first.” He tried to sound reassuring. “It’s downstairs. I think I saw something while I was with Siegfried that could help us out, but I want to make sure. It shouldn’t take more than a minute to go there and come back.”

Dipper didn’t look eager to let him go wandering alone, but he nodded nonetheless. “Just be careful.”

“Promise,” Orrie grinned as Dipper stepped inside his room. The smile slid once the door closed.

With the paper in his pocket the boy treaded carefully down the stairs, fears aflame, the destination hinted by the note vibrantly clear in his mind as he went.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

His own soft footsteps were pulsing loudly in his ears. His mind, though, ignored them, focused almost entirely on the location hinted at in the note.

It hadn’t been hard to piece together. The back of the page had a sketch of a large and shattered egg laying in front of a castle wall. A row of armored knights stood behind it, oblivious to its ruin. Since the image had nothing to do with the message on the front there was only one conclusion Orrie could draw: go to the room with the knights.

Or, rather, the hall with the armored suits he’d passed through with Siegfried. He entered with wariness and caution; the suits were still standing orderly, not a single one out of place. And there, in the middle of the long corridor, _he_ stood. The Alcor impersonator was grinning, almost proudly, at Orrie, wholly ignoring the crumpled body before him. Orrie felt a weight plummet into his stomach. He just spoke with Siegfried not even an hour ago. Now…now he was lying face-down on the floor, a blunt mace not far from his head, a trickle of blood seeping from the back of his skull. Orrie did his best to ignore it too. He was failing.

“I’m glad to see you solved that little riddle of mine,” the fake said, stepping over Siegfried’s body. There was a distinct lack of synthetic reverb in his voice; he probably no longer felt the need to pretend anymore. “Though it wasn’t all that hard to figure out to begin with, was it?” The boy didn’t say anything as he approached. “Still, congrats.”

“Why do you want me here?” Orrie forced himself to mutter. He uncrumpled the note from his pocket. “What do you mean by this?” ‘Alcor’s’ smirk grew wider as he read the paper, and despite looking like the few images of the Dreambender, Orrie could no longer find any remote similarities between him and Dipper. It was too surreal how the literal demon had more humanity than the actual human.

“I’m sure you’ve already figured that one out too,” laughed the fake. Orrie kept his eyes away from the body, but the imposter could still infer his held question. “You can go ahead and ask. ‘Why did I kill him’, hm? The answer’s quite obvious.”

“B-because,” Orrie uttered lowly, hand crinkling the paper once more, “he wasn’t…the inside help, was he?” The mocking clap only enflamed the hurt inside him further.

“Correct. See? I knew you figured it out.” But Orrie wished he hadn’t. Because that meant…

Orrie glanced at the paper, its obscured message now nearly screaming in his mind’s ear:

“ _Poor pussy nearly drowned, her assailant nowhere to be found._ ”

“Now…” The fake reached inside his vest and pulled out a thin booklet. “I believe this belongs to you. It’s only fair since you helped solve the hints to find it.” He held out the clue, and Orrie froze, spotting the dark red splotches on its spine. “Well?” Slowly, the boy accepted the clue. It was real, which meant so was this dangerous man giving it to him. Orrie took a hurried step away.

The imposter didn’t pursue, but he did narrow his eyes. “Alright, now how about a tit for a tat: Is Dipper Sterling _truly_ Alcor?” Orrie fought every muscle in his body to prevent any emotion from betraying him, made certain not one expression—not even a twitch—gave him away. ‘Alcor’ raised a brow. “Silent treatment? Well, it doesn’t matter; I’ll have my answer soon enough. And it might be interesting to see his reaction to it all even if he isn’t the real deal.”  
  
“What are you planning on doing?” Orrie couldn’t stop himself from blurting the question. All this terror, all these killings, and he still hadn’t the foggiest idea as to what this man was plotting.

To his surprise, the fake Alcor spun on his heel and began to walk away. “You’re not getting any more answers from _me_ ,” he called back “Just make sure you continue to do your part.” He rounded the corner and disappeared. What an odd thing to say, but Orrie didn’t pay too much mind. He swallowed. The ache in his chest was growing. Because if he could no longer ask the imposter for answers that left…

…But he thought he could trust the man. Out of everyone, _he_ seemed the most determined to actually stop the murderer and protect everyone. _He_ was the most approachable, save Belle and Dipper, and was even the one who gave them their first hint. Orrie couldn’t possibly accept that…but the fake had all but confirmed it…

It was the sound of soft shuffling that brought him from his thoughts. Whirling around, he saw Zahia attempting to creep out from a tiny space between one of the suits and the wall. “Zahia? You were there the whole time?” The woman said nothing as she started to back away, fearful eyes keeping constant vigilance on him, and Orrie had a sinking suspicion as to why. “You’ve got to believe me– it wasn’t what it looked like.”

But Zahia’s panicked gaze never softened. “Do you really expect me to believe that? You and that man must have some sort of arrangement going on where he keeps you alive as long as you, I don’t know, spy on the rest of us.” Orrie blinked.

“What? No. That’s not it at all. Listen—”

But Zahia covered her ears. “I don’t care what you have to say!” She turned and ran. “You’re helping that murderer!”

“No, I’m not!” Orrie gave chase. This place was simply too dangerous for them to be splitting up, and he really needed to get back to Dipper and Belle as soon as possible. “He told me to come here! I didn’t know what he did to Mr. Connolly!”

“Then why didn’t you seem surprised!? You just accepted that book without another word. Or was that also part of you doing ‘your part’?” Orrie’s face flushed with aggravation. So the imposter knew she was hiding there; that’s why he said that. “Just stay away from me! Stop following me!”

“But we can help you! If you’ll just let me explain every—” His words quickly died as he skidded to a stop. Flynn was standing in the hallway, at first facing away as he watched Zahia flee down the hall, then turned around, stunned, to see it was Orrie pursuing her.

“Why are you—?” But his gaze shifted down toward the bloody clue in Orrie’s hand. The silence between them was like dark ink dripping into water, thickening and choking the air until it was difficult to breathe. Orrie took a step back, and instantly Flynn’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you stay in your room?” he demanded.

Orrie didn’t respond, slowly inching further and further away from the elf. Flynn took one step forward. “Orrie, did you kill someone to get that?” Now Orrie froze. For Flynn to not only be siding with the murderers but to also be playing along and accuse him of murdering Siegfried—

Indignation spurred inside him. “Why would _I_ need to kill him? _I’m_ not a murderer.” He quickly looked about, trying to find something to possibly use as a shield or, if worst case, a weapon. But all that was in this mostly barren stretch of hallway were a portrait on the wall and a giant vase, the latter nearer to Flynn. Maybe he could get away before Flynn caught him? Despite their current distance, Orrie doubted his odds. “I don’t even know why you’re still acting.”

“Acting?” Flynn looked convincingly perplexed, but his accusatory glare returned soon enough. “‘Him’? So you mean Siegfried?”

“Why do you keep pretending? You’re the one who helped kill him!”

“Orrie, listen to yourself– why would I kill Siegfried?”

“Because you’re working with that fake Alcor!”

Flynn paused, staring at Orrie curiously. “…And why would you think that?”

“He pretty much told me.”

“Through a note?” Now it was Orrie’s turn to hesitate.

“Er, well, yeah…” And he fished out the note from his pocket. He balled up the paper and threw it toward Flynn, who caught it effortlessly and unfurled it to read it. “Wait, how did you know?”

“Because I got one as well.” And he took out a note from his own coat pocket. The boy warily approached, and the elf handed it to him. He could read:

“ _Anything for his pretty little Dutch girl_ ”

Orrie’s cheeks flushed. The phrase didn’t ring any bells, but he could still tell it was based on a nursery rhyme, just like the notes found by all the other victims. Even his own matched the writing style. “I. Am. Such. An idiot.” To think he believed that fake for more than a second; Orrie wasn’t sure if humiliation or shame was the more accurate word to describe his feelings. “I’ll take it he gave this to you too?”

“Not too long ago, yes,” Flynn nodded, taking back the note. “I…I’ll admit I also fell for his trick. I was actually on my way to question you and the Sterling twins about your involvement with the killer.”

Orrie handed him back the note. “Us?” Orrie thought about it and could kind of understand Flynn’s reasoning. He supposed Flynn thought Dipper being blackmailed through Belle and would do anything the killer said to keep her safe. That made sense, though that didn’t give Flynn any reason to confront him. Then Orrie thought some more on the note’s wording and came to what Flynn likely concluded. He wasn’t embarrassed; in fact, he chuckled softly to himself. “Oh. Don’t worry; none of us has any reason to be involved. We’re safe for now.”

The elf smiled a small smile at his honesty. “That’s good. But where are your friends now, and why aren’t you with  them?”

“They’re resting in their room. We’ve had quite an exciting morning.” It was obvious from his tone he was understating things. “As for me being alone, I didn’t want to get them involved. I figured there was a reason that imposter gave this note only to me.”

“Reason or not, it was foolish to come by yourself. Do they at least know you’re here?”

“Dipper sort of does. And I need to get back to them.” He trusted Flynn, but he didn’t trust this hall not to be wired. “See, they’re both powerful sorcerers. If we all work together and get rid of the second master rune, I’m sure we can get out.”

“Second? Honestly, you children,” Flynn sighed, but Orrie could tell he was relieved nothing had happened to them. The man led the way to the foyer, his pace brisk and with purpose. “So is that all you three have been up to?”

“I wish,” Orrie said, expression instantly darkening, “Siegfried kidnapped me and forced me to look for a clue. Then he ran off with it before I could read it. And _that_ was after Belle was taken by one of the cultists—”

“You saw them?”

“No. They went down a trapdoor before we could catch them. But Dipper and I were able to find and free her. It was during then I got the note. What about you?” He stared inquisitively at the back of Flynn’s head. The man’s steps slowed somewhat.

“The bodies,” he answered softly. Orrie gave a nonverbal reply. “Be it secret tunnels or rooms, I’ve been looking for where the murderers might have taken them. You’ve noticed already that they’re missing.”

“Yeah.” Noticed, definitely. Cared…that, regretfully, had been practically the furthest thing from his mind. Of course he noticed when the Tosettis disappeared and briefly wondered what had happened to them, but that was quickly overlooked in favor for a night’s rest.

“There’s a reason they’re gone. Even Dug’s body has been moved. These people, everyone behind these elaborate traps and deaths, they _want_ us dead, but they’re refusing to come out and kill us immediately.” He paused, hand to chin as he pondered on something. “They’re certainly spying on us, so it’s most logical to conclude they’re waiting for us to do—or not do—something. It appears that whenever we accomplish or fail to do whatever they want from us they’ll have no hesitancy in killing us.” He glanced at Orrie. “What exactly did you do with Siegfried before he was killed?”

Orrie held up the clue. “Find the hints, then the clue. Other than being forced to do it, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Siegfried then ran off with it, and I went to find Dipper and Belle in an underground labyrinth. We, um, we managed to get out.” Obviously. “And the rest you already know. I found Siegfried already dead when that fake gave this to me.”

Flynn nodded. “So it’s clear that just looking for clues isn’t enough for them. It seems the seven of us—”

“Um,” Orrie spoke quietly, sadly, “It’s…it’s only five of us now.” The only response Orrie caught was a sharp whisper of that elfen swear word again. Then he suddenly held out his arm, and Orrie nearly crashed into it. The entryway to the foyer was only a few feet away, but Flynn was staring intently at it. “What’s wrong?”

The former investigator didn’t say anything. Instead, he motioned for Orrie to stay where he was as he took three slow and deliberate steps forward. He waited. He took another step and stopped. He then took one step back. “It’s not safe,” he murmured loud enough for Orrie to hear. The boy took a subconscious step backwards. “The foyer isn’t, I mean,” Flynn clarified, turning his head to look back. “There’s something waiting to be sprung once we enter. Come here, but do not take a step past me.” Against common sense, Orrie walked warily to where Flynn stood. “Listen.” He did so and forced himself to shut his eyes and concentrate. It was faint, so very easy to miss, but there was the sound of something mechanical clicking. Or winding. Or ticking. Well, whatever it was doing, it couldn’t be anything good. Orrie thought back to the spikes that were hidden in the walls.

“I think we can get around it,” the boy said, reaching for his bag. He yanked out his sketchbook and flipped quickly to the sketched map. “Yep. We’re in this hall here,” he pointed to the southeastern-most hall, “so we can take the long way around to reach the northwest hall here, then creep along the edge of the foyer to get to the stairs.”

Flynn studied the map briefly before nodding. “Yes, I agree. Let’s hurry.” They spun around and were almost immediately greeted by a blazing wall of fire. It—it had appeared from nowhere! And already it had engulfed the entire corridor they’d come down, devouring walls, floor, and ceiling voraciously as it crept eagerly toward the trapped guests. Orrie’s mind at first couldn’t process the sight, but once it did it forced his body to react without a shred of thought.

The boy flung open the nearest door. “This way!”

“Orrie!” But Orrie had already grabbed Flynn’s hand and pulled the man inside. Almost in a daze Flynn followed after him. He slammed the door, but his hand remained on the doorknob. “That…that wasn’t normal.”  
  
“When did they sneak up on us?” Orrie kept throwing glances toward the door as if scared it would soon open and the flames would race inside. “And how did a fire even get that big? Did they turn off the sprinklers too?”

“Wait—no. No!” Flynn tried turning the handle. It wouldn’t budge; it was locked. “NO!” He banged once against it, but it refused to open. Orrie froze where he stood. His heart sank. Were they…

“It was a trap!” Flynn again tried to ram the door down, and again was unsuccessful. “And we fell for it. That fire was strange because it didn’t make any sound, its smoke didn’t give off a smell; it was—”

“It was an illusion.” Orrie finished with a whisper. The coldness of fear made him shiver. “He wanted us here.”

“That or the foyer to trigger the trap there.” Flynn made one last attempt to force open the door—a kick with all his might—but it just wasn’t enough. His frustration was clear, but when he saw Orrie’s ashen face he visibly calmed himself. “Don’t panic. We’ll find a way out.” He approached the boy.

“I’m not going to panic again,” uttered Orrie lowly, though he found it difficult to actually move his limbs. Flynn saw this, and with a gentle push, helped get Orrie walking toward the back of the room. Though the lights were off there were several lamps that were lit and giving off a soft, dim glow. This appeared to be a play room for really small children and would have been a bit charming in any other circumstance. The entire area was themed like a farm, having play mats with tractors and dolls of farm animals and tables shaped like long, flat horses with plastic haystacks for stools. Dividing the small room between the play area and the “classroom” was a waist-high wooden fence, with two wooden roosters facing them and a gate between the two.

“I recognize this room.” Flynn stepped past the gate and into the play area. “I was in here briefly while looking for a hint the other day. There’s another room connected to this one.” He searched the walls. “There was a sliding door shared between them; it should be around here.” Orrie entered the area too and helped look. They found the door soon enough, but it too was locked. Orrie quickly spotted a keyhole.

“What are the odds the key is in this room somewhere?”

“None at all.”

Orrie and Flynn both whipped around. The Alcor impersonator was standing in front of the gate, smirking at them with utter pleasure. And the roosters’ heads had spun around, now turned directly at them. The imposter took a step forward. “Just like I had no fun at all trying to turn you two against each other.”

In a single movement, Flynn grabbed Orrie and shoved him behind him while taking a threatening step closer to the other man. “What reason do you have being here? Are you targeting us specifically? Answer me.”

“Truth be told, I didn’t care who fell for my ruse; you two happened to be the most convenient at the time.” The impersonator grinned. “An idea struck me while watching you all, and I figured why not see what happens if I make someone think another was a killer, perhaps even a mole for me. It amused me enough to try, so I set you up. You, Fairfern, were easy enough to catch alone; and young Orrie here only had to stray away from his pals for a second to get my note.”

“So that threat about you having inside help,” said Orrie, “was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, no, I do have inside help. But my words were a bit more literal than you thought.” A bit more literal? So when he said ‘inside’ help, was he referring to the secret tunnels, perhaps behind the manor’s walls? That had to be it and how the other cultists could commit the murders and escape without getting caught. The fake frowned. “Honestly, it was the perfect plan to get you all paranoid and distrusting of each other. Watch you run around like scared mice. But then you started talking and reasoning, and you sorted out the mess before I could even sit back and enjoy the show.”

This really was all a game to him, such sick amusement. Orrie saw Flynn clench his fist and felt the elf’s foot push firmly against the tip of his own, and he understood almost instantly. Without any other motions Flynn managed to convey his plan to Orrie: he’d fight off the imposter, and during that time Orrie would have to make a break for the exit. The boy nudged his foot back and took the tiniest step away.

The impostor narrowed his eyes. “Ah ah ah. We have come _much_ too far for there to be any hope of you escaping. And it’s really a shame you both spoiled my fun.” He held up his hand, his fingers ready poised to snap. “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Time to get rid of you two.” Upon the last word he snapped loud and clear, much louder, Orrie failed to notice, than the pair of tiny pellets fired from the roosters’ open beaks. He didn’t even feel it at first, the burning pierce through his chest, the warm stickiness blooming from Flynn’s torso and dripping onto his face as he dove to cover him. The shock of everything happening so violently and so quickly made time itself pause to stand still and watch. Slowly did it resume its eternal crawl forward, but not fast enough.

Not enough…

Orrie was breathless.

Not enough…

His legs fell from under him.

Not enough…air…

“Orrie!” Flynn was on his knees too, his palm pressed hard against Orrie’s chest, its warmth and pressure growing steadily dull and distant to the boy. Orrie wanted to respond, but his body seemed entirely disconnected from his jumbled thoughts. It was in panic, desperate to give itself the oxygen it could not for whatever reason obtain. His own shallow breaths sounded thick and heavy to his ears. “I need help! Is someone out there?” Flynn was shouting. The shouting kept Orrie grounded. Kept him assured. Calm. But still out of breath. Like his lungs couldn’t fill…

“Zahia!” Flynn was repositioning Orrie to lie on his front side, his hand never leaving the hole in the boy’s chest as he laid his upper body in his lap. Orrie coughed and choked at the movement, and spurts of blood-mixed spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “Dipper! Belle! _Someone!_ ” Orrie’s breathing grew more irregular as his eyelids started to close. “Orrie!? Stay with—!” He coughed and buckle, his adrenaline no longer able to keep most of the pain of his own bullet wound at bay. He whispered an elfen spell under his breath, something to mitigate his internal bleeding. But it was a slow process.

Flynn started to slouch forward. The pain was excruciating now; maybe the bullet punctured his stomach or his liver. It’d definitely shattered a rib. But his injuries were nothing to Orrie’s: the second bullet had clearly torn through the boy’s right lung. If help didn’t arrive shortly, he was going to asphyxiate. Orrie’s breathing faltered. “Some— _SOMEONE, PLEASE_!”

Footsteps pounded outside, and the door nearly flew off its hinges with brother and sister barging in. Dipper, wings flared to keep him airborne, landed on fours beside them in an instant, his disguise utterly abandoned as he took in the sight of the two. Belle was less than a second behind him. Her eyes were wide as she stared at their injuries, like this was all too impossible to even be happening. “Help them, Dipper,” she urged, her eyes glistening with pleading tears. “You can fix this, can’t you?” Dipper bared his teeth, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I…can’t. Not without a deal. Their injuries are too severe.”

“I can offer—”

“There isn’t anything you can offer,” her brother cut her off. “The price is too high. I’m sorry.” His eyes, though so dark and inhuman and turned away, held the greatest amount of sorrow Flynn had ever witnessed in his fading life.

“…My life.” Dipper’s eyes shot back to the elf. “Will you accept my life to save Orrie’s?”

“You’re—”

“If one of us has to die, let it be me. I swore that I’d get you all home to your families. I’ve lived a long and decent life; I have no qualms making the offer.” He stared directly at the deceptively young teen. “A life for a life. Is that a deal, Dreambender?” Dipper, hesitating but a second, nodded and grabbed his hand. Blue fire raced down their arms.

“Deal.” Immediately the blood on Orrie began to evaporate like ash carried by the wind. The wounds started to delicately mend themselves closed. Color seeped back into Orrie’s face, and his breathing, just ago hardly a whispery rattle, grew more even. Flynn groaned, his grip weakening in Dipper’s.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of better help sooner. But maybe you all can still make it. I found a clue earlier; it’s in my pocket. Maybe it’ll help you find whoever’s behind all this.” The fire binding them receded. “Take care…and…get home safely…” Flynn’s hand fell from his hold, landing almost quietly next to Orrie. The twins stayed silent—a weeping Belle respectfully bowing her head while Dipper fought back the roar rippling in his throat—until Orrie began to stir. He didn’t say anything, but warm tears were flowing from his still closed eyes.

“This isn’t your fault,” Belle tried to assure him, but he shook his head and let out a heartfelt sob.

By not telling his friends about the note, this was entirely his fault.

Or at least that was what he was so convinced. So he needed to atone. He needed to find those cultists alongside Belle and Dipper, and he’d help the two take them down. Belle was right—he could break down later. Now he needed to concentrate on escaping with the other survivors.

As he dried his eyes, Orrie watched as Dipper rummaged through Flynn’s coat pocket until he pulled out a clue. Orrie reached inside his backpack and pulled out the clue he found with Siegfried. “We have no time to waste,” said Dipper, opening both booklets for them to read. Orrie read the one he found first to himself:

“ _Edgar, brilliant as he is, is crazy. Who in their right mind doesn't bring a weapon with them into the woods where they're going to be conducting illegal activity? And then convince everybody else not to? Traps are only so effective against intruders—and that's assuming they're sprung. At least the foreigner (Keller, I believe was his last name) had the same idea as me, bringing his own bow and arrows. Told Neil it was a good idea to bring someone who knew how to hunt into the group._ ”

 

“ _IT WASN'T ME!_

_Howard was annoying, yes, with his constant teasing of me and Mary being a couple because of our codenames, but I didn't kill him! Someone's framing me! But Edgar won't believe me. And he won't give me back my gun. He keeps telling me that he trusted me and I betrayed him, but I DIDN'T. We have a traitor in our midst, and I refuse to go down without some form of protection. The ritual to summon Alcor is in a week's time, but at this rate only the double-crosser will survive long enough to have all the power for themselves._ ”

Orrie closed his eyes after reading the two pages, concentrating and then mentally storing the information for later. This clue was yet another key in determining who wasn’t the killer, but for now he couldn’t go deeper into the thought. He turned to the second booklet and its pages:

“ _Whoa, never heard Mr. E raise his voice before. But Mr. S has more backbone than I gave him credit. Their yelling match could be heard all the way upstairs. I can sympathize with Mr. S– I'd be pretty pissed too if someone snapped all my hunting arrows in half. From what I could hear, the guy was only trying to get us a sacrifice to offer to Alcor. But Mr. E was scared he was drawing unwanted attention? Who else is out here, mate? I think Mr. E is becoming too paranoid for his own good._ ”

 

“ _There is no way this is all a coincidence. Overdose I can see, but accidental gun discharge? I don't blame Mr. E for putting Mr. M on probation; his weapon shouldn't have been unlocked in the first place. But I fear his suspicions are directed toward the wrong person. It's too soon to point fingers, but I'm starting to doubt the one Mr. E holds high regards to.  
_

_R.I.P. Dean Kohl. May God have mercy on your soul._ ”

Orrie sat back once he finished reading. So the second clue was a lot less interesting than the first. But clearly it had some importance if it was vital for solving the mystery. He closed the booklet, Belle having already finished it as well, and stuffed them both in his bag.

“Alright, we’re kicking this into overdrive, people,” Belle pounded her fist against her palm, her expression determined and fearless. “Orrie, is there any place we haven’t been to yet? A room in the manor you haven’t sketched?”

“Yes,” Orrie said, his map by this point practically memorized to the smallest detail, “There’s a hallway on the other side of the mansion. Down there is the only place I haven’t been to yet.”

“Gotcha. Bro, how do you feel about dealing with any obstacles we might come across? I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of them.”

“Way ahead of you,” Dipper replied, his wings dissolving but his eyes remaining demonic. “But first.” He snapped his fingers, and Flynn’s body was engulfed in blue fire. Orrie let out a cry of alarm, but Dipper’s otherwise solemn face told the boy this wasn’t out of callousness. It was out of respect. His fire burned quickly, efficiently, completely. In just under a minute nothing remained, not even ash. The cultists had one less body to use for their nefarious deeds. “Lead the way.”

Orrie instead hesitated. “The quickest way is through the foyer. How’re we going to make it past the trap?”  
  
“We just came from the foyer; we didn’t see any traps.” Orrie nearly couldn’t believe Dipper’s words, but he knew he was telling the truth. So what was the noise he heard earlier? Regardless, he guided his friends through the foyer and down the most direct path to the hall. As they ran, all the open doors they passed by closed shut, leading them further, and solely, toward their destination.

They rushed through the only door that did not bar itself shut. It looked like a room for seamstresses and tailors to work in as there were numerous mannequins scattered about the room, all of them wearing clothing styles of old and new. They split, pushing aside and checking anything and everything they could. The last hint or clue _had_ to be in here.

“Hey! Guys, over here!” Belle was waving to them from one of the mannequins. It was outfitted with hunting apparel– shoes, gloves, fake gun, and all. One of the gloves was removed, showing the dummy’s jointed hand. Except one of the fingers didn’t quite look right compared to the others. The segment showing where the right pinkie bended was different. Belle pulled it, revealing it to actually be a long key disguised as a finger. And when she lowered the hand back to its proper position, a tightly wound scroll fell out of the hole, which Dipper snatched before either could register the movement.

He unfurled the slip of paper, squinting slightly to read the small text. He read it aloud for them:

“ _The devil’s bird has a secret to tell you._ ”

“That’s both specific and incredibly vague,” sighed Belle, “I mean, seriously– the devil’s bird? Like, an evil bird?”

“There is the Ulama, which is often called the Devil Bird outside of its native land, but they’re not so much ‘evil’ as they are annoying,” muttered her twin, “Plus, I don’t think the hint’s referring to them.”

“Can you think of any evil birds?”

“None inherently so, no.”

“What about birds representing evil?” Orrie asked. At this, Dipper scoffed humorlessly.

“It’d take all day to list them all. The most well-known, though, would have to be the crow.”

Belle bit her lip. “Do you remember if we entered any rooms with crows? Saw anything with them? I don’t recall seeing any pictures.”

Orrie shut his eyes and imagined his map of the manor. Though his sketch had few details, they were enough to trigger memories of the much more major particulars of each room he simply chose not to include. Like the paintings in the hall. And the busts in the parlor.

“There’s…a trophy room,” he said slowly, picturing the location in his mind, piecing together the details. It was a bit of a struggle since he really only peeked inside. “It’s not far from here. I remember seeing a line of birds by the side wall. They might have been crows.”

The twins nodded. “It’s the best shot we have,” Belle told him. Now with a key in hand, they rushed once more through the halls. Orrie’s head was starting to pound. The fear of activating a trap and the desperation to find the last clue in time was beginning to make his head hurt. He grimaced but ran forward anyway. They were so close.

The three reached the trophy room with no problem. And, just as Orrie said, to the left side of the room—opposite the wall with numerous mounted animal heads and taxidermic predators—was a large display of several birds poised ready to take flight. But they weren’t crows.

“Magpies.” Dipper said it like he should have realized that was the answer. Orrie thought the birds looked too pretty to be associated with evil, then reminded himself he needed to focus. With them being so close to the end he needed to concentrate, hard as it was starting to become; he couldn’t let his excitement cloud his judgment.

Belle took half a step forward before pausing. She looked oddly confused. “Um…what was the hint again?”

“The devil’s bird has a secret to tell you,” her brother reminded her, approaching the stand. The long table had the ten magpies in a line. “And this actually makes things easier for us.” He walked slowly down the table. “One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral, four for birth.” He neared one bird in particular. “Five for silver, six for gold.” He stopped walking. “Seven for a secret the devil won’t unfold.” He inspected the seventh magpie from afar before stepping forward and slowly beginning to turn its head. It twisted almost mechanically, and the three heard a metallic grind. Turning, they spotted a giant bear—upright and ready to strike down on a poor soul—open its mouth, a revealed booklet tumbling out.

Belle shuffled forward, getting to her knees to pick up the booklet. She inserted the key, and the other two peered over her shoulder to read the final clue:

“ _I don't know who to trust anymore. I'm terrified to leave my room. Stephen…Dean…Howard…Monty…my friends, I'm so sorry to what has happened to you. These last few days I've been wishing we never started this plan to trap Alcor; what we've done to each other is worse than what any demon could. I'm scared of Edgar; he hasn't been himself lately. I have my doubts about him. Maybe I should confide with Neil my worries…_ ”

 

“ _Alright, I'll do it. I'll speak with Edgar in his room. Neil gave me his word he'd keep watch over me and come running from his own bedroom if he hears me shout for help. But I don't think I'll have to. I trust Edgar. He's my best friend, after all. We can talk. We can be civil. We can fulfill our dreams together._ ”

Despite the weariness draining him, Orrie felt relieved. Their final clue! Now all they had to do was piece everything together. He pulled out the other clues and sat beside his friend. “Alright, so how should we go about doing this?” He opened them and pulled out all the papers. He stared at them intently, eyes heavy. “So…from this last clue we found we can rule out Stephen, Howard, Dean, and Monty as being the killer since they’re dead. Meaning it’s either Edgar, Neil, or Mary.”

“I don’t think that’s enough,” said Dipper, frowning, “I think we need to know the betrayer’s full name to solve this, at least to satisfy our current killers.” He closed his eyes. “We’ve known for a while that the names on our bedroom doors are the surnames. And by piecing together the clues, we now have all of their given names. So let’s start from the beginning.” Dipper reached for the very first clue they found. “We learned from this the existence of the Blue-Stripped Arachnids, and despite Mr. M’s—or Monty’s—level of magic, they managed to get inside the manor.”

“Yeah,” Belle nodded, and she pointed toward a sheet of paper from the third clue. “And here we learned that Sarkozy was terrified of them, so it’s highly unlikely she used one to kill Monty Jans, the only other person with as much knowledge on magic as her. And since she’s the only female mentioned, she has to be Mary Sarkozy.”

“Then we learned the new guy, Stephen, was killed by medication overdose. Or that was how his death was framed.” Orrie looked at the papers from the fourth clue. “Edgar Pierce seems to be the ringleader behind all of this based on this clue’s writing. And we know Stephen and whoever wrote this clue don’t have the last name Lemaire.”

“Stephen’s last name is Keller, if the fifth clue is anything to go by.” Dipper held up the papers from said clue.

Belle rubbed small circles over her temples. “Right, right, meaning Stephen Keller had to have written the third clue because he mentioned the others as being the closest of friends. And…And Edgar wrote the second clue.” She moaned, and Dipper stared at her.

“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing. This is all just so much to process. Geez, I wanna’ take a nap now.”

“Later,” Orrie tried to encourage her, though he too felt the same. “The fifth clue was written by Monty since there’s a brief mention of Howard’s teasing of him and Mary…and by everyone else’s names mentioned in the fourth clue, that one had to have been written by Neil Not-Lemaire.”

“…Mu-Monty was the one who b’ought the gun, righ’?” slurred Belle, and this time Dipper didn’t ignore how out of it she looked. He dropped to his knees and placed a hand over her head.

“No fever, but—Belle!” His twin slumped to the side and landed in his lap. She could have been mistaken for dozing, but her breathing was too slow and shallow to be comforting. “Belle, wake up!”

“…Tired…” was all she mumbled. Orrie, exhausted, attempted to shake her only to find himself collapsing too. He was too sleepy to care that he was lying face down.

Dipper was starting to panic, his eyes darting in alarm between the two. Then he froze and sniffed the air. It was the faintest whiff of sour-sweet acid– impossible for the human nose to detect. But he wasn’t human, and he could tell immediately what it was.

He grabbed Orrie and hoisted him onto his back before grabbing his sister and carrying her bridal-style in his arms. “Hang on!” he told Orrie, who only half-heartedly wrapped his arms around the teen’s neck. This was _bad_. He should have noticed; he should have been paying attention! But those cultists had been pumping carbon monoxide into the air, gradually so as not to be noticeable. He charged out of the room, smelling the gas even stronger in the hall. Dipper audibly growled; what Orrie thought was a trap must have been that machine starting to release the gas.

Dipper raced for the foyer, desperate to reach the manor’s front doors. But on the way he saw movement. Against better judgment he slowed. “Wha– Zahia!?” The woman was tottering away down another hall, stumbling violently with each step. She didn’t seem to have heard him at all. “Zahia! We need to leave! There’s carbo—” The woman fell. Dipper cursed loudly as he ran over to her. But he slowed before reaching her. Zahia had been exposed to the high concentrations for too long. No aura of colors surrounded her. She would not be getting back up.

With a mighty roar and burst of power surging through him, Dipper continued racing toward the foyer, the start of void-black bricks coating the edges of his skin. He halted once more when he reached the area. On the ground before him was a seemingly ordinary bingo card; there was nothing oddly marked on it or anything. He bent down to pick it up, but it wasn’t his hand that reached forward. Orrie held it up for him, loosely and barely able to keep his grip, so Dipper could look at it without having to put Belle down. He twisted it around:

“ _If you solved the mystery that’s come to a head then this hint will save your life. Otherwise, sweet dreams in five minutes._ ”

“Wha’…duz i’ meen…?” Orrie nearly fell asleep right then, but the sudden movement as Dipper aimed away from the doors roused him just enough. “Bingo…Bingo…B…I…N…G…O…” He dozed off.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep, Orrie,” Dipper growled. “You too, Belle.” He flew up the stairs—literally so as he materialized his wings for speed—and rushed into what was once the Lionharts’ room. He slammed the door shut and, after carefully lowering Belle and Orrie, locked it. A metallic plate slid down in the space beneath the door, sealing the room. Without missing a beat he started CPR on Belle, pinching her nose and breathing out pure oxygen he created in his body before pressing her chest rhythmically to get the blood moving. He repeated this twice more before she started to stir. With her waking, he shifted his attention to Orrie and restarted the process. Soon he began to wake too.

“…Where are we?” The boy sat up slowly, recognizing the interior design. But this wasn’t his or the Sterlings’ room. “Why’re we—?”

“This is the only room that is safe,” Dipper said lowly, sitting back to catch the breath he didn’t really need. But that had been a terrifyingly close call, and he didn’t even want to think about the outcome if he’d been wrong. Orrie looked over at him, confused.

“But how did you figure it out? That looked like a normal bingo card to me.”

“It was,” said Dipper. He gestured to the room at large. “But the hint was right: if we figured out the culprit then we would be safe.” He stared directly at them. “Bingo. Be in Gogh.” The other two let his words wash over them. They all rested in silence, in the deathly quietness that now permeated the entire manor.

When at last she couldn’t take it Belle stood. She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m…I’m ready,” she said, “I’m ready to face these cultists. We owe it to Flynn and the others to make it out alive.”

“Yeah. And to take their murderers down,” Orrie added as he rose too. His arms and legs trembled with fright, but his soul was near bursting with righteous determination. Dipper studied him carefully, scrutinizing him with sharp glowing eyes; was he judging whether he’d actually be up to the task? Orrie felt an unnatural coolness that had little to do with his anticipation.

But the teen smiled grimly. “You’re right. We _are_ getting out of here. And we are _definitely_ going to make them pay.” Now the question was how were they going to do that. But once again Dipper seemed to have an answer for that. He inspected the bed’s headboard until he found a tiny switch on its backside. A patch of carpet shifted and slid away, revealing a tunnel and slide that led down into darkness.

Dipper snapped his fingers, and a burst of flame ignited in front of Belle. She reached forward and grabbed inside the blue fire, pulling out a nail-ridden baseball bat as the flames scattered. Orrie stared in awe at Mizar’s infamous glittery weapon. He himself had nothing but the grappling hook, but perhaps he could make that suffice somehow.

“Let’s do this.” She lowered and pushed herself down the metal slide. Dipper was right behind her, folding his wings just enough to fit. Orrie inched forward, took a deep breath, and plunged himself into darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

Down, down, down into the dreaded abyss. Orrie wasn’t sure how long they were on the slide—too long in his books—but his feet eventually found solid floor, and he stumbled to keep his balance while blind. The sound of movement a little ways ahead signaled Belle was nearby. And the second Orrie wondered how they were going to navigate, a ball of fire ignited in Dipper’s palm. Now illuminated, the chamber didn’t seem _quite_ as terrifying. 

The small circular chamber had five entrances, not including the slide they came down. Four of the doors were metallic just like the various doors they’d passed by when they were first in the basement. But straight ahead was a giant door of the deepest black Orrie had ever seen. Ancient runes and signs were etched into its obsidian surface, and while most were strange the boy could recognize more than a few symbols pertaining to the Alcor mythos.

Dipper held a finger to his lips and wordlessly pointed toward the door. The other two nodded, with Belle gripping her bat even tighter. Her brother took the lead forward. He paused briefly to make certain they were safely behind him before thrusting the door open with a mighty push. Though it held firm with as much resistance as wet paper Orrie still noticed the sparks and smoke that sprung forth the moment Dipper touched the door; that door was not meant to be opened by demons. Seemingly unbothered, though, his friend stepped through.

Water sloshed out from all sides and drenched Dipper, and the teen actually fell to one knee, surprised and burned by the sudden assault of holy water. “Dipper!” Belle rushed forward, panic ringing in her voice. Robed men and women were already surrounding her twin and trying to tie him up with what appeared to be chains when she came at them. She landed a solid swing on one of the cultists, knocking a tooth out. Two saw her attack in time, however, and skirted out of the way as she swung. One grabbed her wrist while the other rammed his elbow into her stomach. She fell to her knees, utterly breathless, and the two cultists restrained her. Orrie fared no better at all as a single cultist was able to snatch him be the arms and wrangle them behind his back. They were forced inside—a chained Dipper being half-dragged in—and Orrie could only gape at what he saw.

This innermost chamber was gigantic, easily half as large as the entire first floor of the manor. The square room had numerous pedestals and candles sitting on poles. On top of the pedestals were large bowls filled with water and, to Orrie’s confusion…lilies? No, lotuses– in fact the same ones he’d seen in the pool and greenhouse.

“Hurry, hurry!” he heard one of the cultists whisper tersely, and around the room he saw even more of them light the bowls of lotuses with matches. A soft, almost grassy fragrance wafted through the room as they started to chant. Belle gasped, and though initially confused, Orrie quickly spotted why. Etched painstakingly into the stone floor was an enormous summoning circle of intricate design, and within it were four smaller but equally complex circles: one was in the center while the other three were spaced evenly apart near the edges. And as the murmured words grew in volume a sort of heavy chill settled over him. He glanced over to Dipper, hoping he was alright. His friend so far seemed unaffected by whatever they doing.

“That went much better than hoped for.” They glared as the imposter stepped forward from the group. He no longer wore his make-up and costume, but he still had that same smugness as that night they’d first met him. Maybe more so now. “I was expecting more of a fight from you three. Especially from you.” He directed those words toward Dipper. “But I won’t complain. Pretty soon nearly a decade’s wait will end with a glorious payoff.” Those not chanting cheered loudly, excitedly. Orrie actually trembled in fear.

“As if we’d let that happen,” Belle retorted even as she struggled against her captors. The imposter snorted.

“I’d love to see how you’re going to stop me. You two are mere children who were stupid enough to come here, and your ‘brother’ there is bound with consecrated chains.”

“Stupid!?” While her anger was understandable, Orrie admittedly thought that shouldn’t have been the focus.

“Decade’s wait? H-how long has this been going on? I thought we were the first victims.”

The fake Alcor shook his head. “Sorry, kid, but you aren’t the first. He was.” And he pointed to a person lying in one of the smaller outer circles. The three turned their gazes, and Orrie spotted the form of an old man he’d overlooked earlier. He was unconscious, a bit bloodied and bruised, but the man was alive. “Mr. Goodman has been so kind in letting us stay on his property these last eight years. Gave us full access to his house and everything. But maybe he should have done a better job hiding the manor’s secret. See, when I first came here, I had no idea how much power this dwelling contained. So when I did I dug a little deeper and found the original journal entries written by the first cultists. And I was intrigued.”

He paused when groaning sounded through the air. Mr. Goodman was stirring, and when he looked around and saw the imposter he let out almost a breathless gasp. “What is…Terry? Terry, please, you must stop this!” But Terry didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked over toward the centermost circle where there was a massive basin full of weird herbs. He took out a match and dropped it, and the plants instantly caught.

“Took me half a year to convince the other staff members to join me in this plan,” he spoke almost conversationally as he watched the flames grow. “Five to update the spell and circle in accordance to Alcor’s growth in power. Two to gather and grow all the necessary items. And another half to test it on some weaker demons. Now, finally, we’re ready.”

Dipper suddenly dropped, and Belle and Orrie turned as best they could to see what happened. “Bro!” With the force of an enraged grizzly Belle elbowed both her captors in the gut, grabbed her bat one of them had been holding, and slammed it hard into Dipper’s captor’s backside. He shrieked in pain as his hold on the chain loosened, enough for Dipper to slip an arm out and yank the rest away. With a shout he shot flames toward Orrie’s captors. They fled in fright, unintentionally freeing the youngest boy in their attempt to dodge. Orrie gratefully returned the favor by charging into the legs of some men about to shower Dipper with more holy water from their buckets, knocking them over. And he in turn was shielded by Belle and her bat before he could be grabbed once more. She stood protectively between the cultists and her brother and friend, her sharp, darting gaze daring anyone to mess with them.

“Dipper, what happened?” whispered Orrie. Dipper was still kneeling, and that greatly worried him.

“I-I—” Dipper grunted and coughed, trying to speak again. “Hard…to…think,” he finally got out. His eyes—which Orrie could now see weren’t able to focus on one thing for very long—landed on the burning lotuses around the room. “Lotus…flowers?”

“Indeed,” Terry chuckled, “The very same, in fact, mentioned in the ancient epics. Its ability to subdue mortal men after a mere taste is so powerful it’s banned in all but three countries worldwide, even for medicinal use. It’s nearly impossible to obtain one from the black market, let alone finding one in the wild. But we did our research, and all we needed was a single seed. After all, we had a magical greenhouse readily available for our purposes to make more.” He looked down at the bowl of burning herbs he was standing by. “The fumes from burning Lotus flowers and Yggdrasil don’t have much effect on humans, but on _you_ …”

“Well, joke’s on you. Demons don’t need to breathe,” Belle shouted out, pointing her bat threateningly at him. “And you’re going to need a lot more Yggdrasil than that to make him loopy. Trust me.”

But Terry seemed unbothered by her words. “Not at all. That’s what the Lotus flowers are for—to enhance the potency of the Yggdrasil. I’m fully aware demons don’t need to breathe nor eat nor sleep. But an unprepared demon might inhale a whiff of it, and that’s all it takes for the smoke to take effect. It gradually wears down a demon’s ability to function. And then, for a few precious seconds, puts them in a trance-like state– the closest to true sleep they will ever achieve; and they won’t have a single care in the world. This window is small—as I said, only a few seconds—before the demon is able to shake off the effects. But it’s long enough for our purposes.”

The man stepped away from the bowl, staring down Belle and Orrie with a facsimile of a pleasant smile. “Now– eeny, meeny, miney…” He pointed at Orrie. “You.”

“M-me?” the boy repeated dumbly while just as unintelligently pointing to himself.

“You’re the last piece I need to complete the ritual– the one with a strong mind. We watched you solve the hints and clues and were we able to narrow down who we needed. Of those who actively sought them, you solved the most.” And he snapped his fingers. Instantly the three of them were surrounded by a ring of maybe twenty identical copies of Terry. Orrie was caught so off guard he immediately lost track of the real one as they all marched in closer.

“I…llusions,” Dipper told them through gritted teeth. “Can’t…hurt you.”

“Are you sure?” all the copies jeered. One of them ran forward and tried to grab Orrie, but Belle was faster and swung her bat. The illusion vanished like smoke. Then two more charged forward, and Belle aimed for the one on her right.

“No! Left!” But her brother’s words came too late as Belle swung again. The fake one disappeared. Orrie felt a burning sting run across the exposed part of his arm and turned to see the second Terry, the real one, race back to hide in the crowd of copies, the metallic end of a small knife glinting as it was concealed in his robe. He gripped his other hand over the wound to mitigate the bleeding. 

Dipper wobbled as he forced himself to stand, and Belle hurried to his side, angling just so that her shoulder could provide him support while she continued to keep watch around them. Orrie was internally amazed how easily and readily they had each other’s back. “Thanks,” Dipper whispered, panting.

“Just hang tight,” she mumbled to him encouragingly. “We’ve got you covered.” Orrie nodded, currently helpless but just as keen to assist them somehow. Wait– he could help! He still had the grappling hook in his backpack. He started to slide the bag off when footsteps alerted him to fast-approaching danger. Several cultists were coming at them from behind, swarming upon them just as their leader and all his illusions charged. Dipper could easily tell the real from the fakes, but from Orrie and Belle’s perspective there was nothing but countless bodies all around them. There were shouts and cries as Orrie was pushed and grabbed at. Terrified, he reached out for his friends, desperate not to get separated from them. 

A hand snatched his. “Got you!” Orrie yelled, startled by the cultist who’d grabbed him. Before another sound could be uttered the tall man hoisted Orrie straight up and carried him to the second of the smaller circles, the boy hitting him and struggling futilely the whole way. He dropped Orrie unceremoniously inside it. From his new location he could see his friends struggling to keep the cultists at bay, completely unaware that he’d already been taken.

The man who’d kidnapped him started chanting. “Guys!” Orrie stood and rushed out of the circle—only to smack right into an invisible wall. “Huh!?” He pounded his fists against solid air. It was a barrier of some sort, but…binding circles couldn’t affect living beings. He looked down, seeing the complex runes and weaving lines starting to glow milky white.

“…their blood is yours to relish…” he heard the man near him mutter. He tried to escape again, but merely bounced off the barrier he could not see. He was truly trapped.

“Belle! Dipper! Help!”

Only now the twins turned, realizing Orrie no longer with them. While distracted, though, Belle was lifted and thrown through the air by no doubt magic. Dipper in turn lunged at Terry, his human disguise fully discarded, now a creature of void darkness and brickwork lines of gold. The leader used his magic to levitate himself out of reach at the last second, but the tips of sharp black nails were still able to tear cleanly across his ankle. Terry yelled in pain and nearly tumbled, grabbing his foot. “Hurry and finish! Finish it now!” he shouted.

The chanting grew even faster, ever louder. Dipper—Alcor—shrieked and fell again to his knees, covering his ears. Belle, still halfway across the chamber, screamed her brother’s name as the words grew almost deafening to Orrie.

“From the one with a strong mind, their blood is yours to relish. From the one with a sound soul, their blood is yours to savor. From the ones with resilient bodies, their blood is yours to devour. With this offering, yield to our needs.”

Terry began uttering the words to Alcor the Dreambender’s summons, his voice overlapping and hauntingly overshadowing the words of his followers. The circle in the center started to glow. Alcor’s form wavered and flickered, shifting from whole to misshapen, physical to ghostly. He howled louder, fighting his own summons. The walls threatened to rain down on them as debris and stones collapsed from above. 

They chanted the words one final time, and this time Alcor was robbed from the realm of corporeality. For all of two seconds Orrie could only stare at the space his friend used to occupy. But the brief time elapsed, and Alcor soon reappeared in the centermost circle. His form was blurry now, like smoke barely able to hold together in a humanoid shape. Golden eyes, despite lacking pupils or irises, somehow looked utterly empty and were half-lidded. 

“Aha hahaha ahaHAHAHA!” To Orrie, Terry’s laughter drowned out the cheering cultists. “ _WE DID IT!_ We did what no one ever could: capture Alcor the Dreambender!” 

“Dipper…” Belle whimpered. Then, shouting, “DIPPER! WAKE UP! WAKE UP, DIPPER!” 

“Save your breath,” Terry said, manic grin plastered on his face. “He can’t hear you anymore. He is asleep thanks to the Lotus flowers, essentially has no consciousness due to the Yggdrasil, and he is bound by our spell. In short, he is a puppet. Our slave.” He laughed again; he sounded demented. “If only those cultists hadn’t died that night; they’d be rulers of this world right now! Shame such brilliant minds ended up being so foolish. Now—” He turned toward his fellow cultists. “Bring an offering.” 

Four people hustled to the far end of the room, completely hidden from view. When they approached Orrie inhaled sharply. The four were carrying Siegfried’s mangled body, heavy dead weight being dragged to the final smaller circle along the edge. Once it was inside Terry looked directly at Alcor. “Enhance my magical abilities. I want to be the most powerful human on Earth.” There was no handshake, no verbal exchange of words, but the body that had been placed in the circle instantly ignited in a sea of blue fire—Alcor’s fire. 

“But how?” Though Belle was on her feet again, what she was seeing petrified her in place. “Dipper can't accept that. A deal like that requires a lot more than one dead sacrifice. Even a living sacrifice shouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s true,” nodded Terry, “But this circle we’re in is absolutely ingenious: as long as the demon inside it has no objections, and the living sacrifices continue to offer their blood, any deal can be made with just the offering of one body.”

“But if either Orrie or Mr. Goodman just leave—” 

“They can’t. The runes that form the outer border of their circles repel blood, preventing them from escaping. And the runes that form the inner border attract it so it can be used in the ritual. Both were activated the moment fresh blood entered the circle.” 

“No.” At his words Orrie had looked down at his arm. The blood was not clotting, still pouring, dripping every so often onto the ground where it was then absorbed by the circle he was in. That’s why he couldn’t escape.

“Of course, this whole ritual will end the moment either of them dies from blood loss,” Terry continued, sounding not at all bothered, “But we’ll worry about that when the time comes.” He snapped his fingers, and Belle was teleported near the center of the circle, not far from her twin and Terry. A wall of thorns erupted around them, too high for Belle to climb. Terry snapped again, and another corpse—Dug’s this time; color-drained and bloated—floated to the offering circle. “You are the only obstacle left in our path. Get rid of you and nobody can stop us.” The man hovered high into the air, staring down at the siblings with twisted glee. “And how ironic would it be, Mizar, to be killed by your beloved Alcor? Hah! I bet that’s something not even the original cultists planned on doing.” He glared at Alcor. “Destroy Mizar. And make sure it’s so devastating her soul won’t be able to reincarnate for at least a hundred years.”

But Alcor did not move. And the body remained where it was. “Was I not clear?” Terry’s tone dropped. “Kill her.” But Alcor stayed perfectly still.

Murmur sprang up amongst the cultists. Belle, who’d not done anything to escape Alcor, continued to glare defiantly at Terry. “And you called us stupid,” she mocked. When she spoke it was slowly, as if talking to a little child. “Dipdop’s my bro. I’ve got his back, and he’s got mine. And nothing’s gonna’ change that.”

_That’s right!_ Orrie thought with a grin. Alcor and Mizar were connected– he’d never hurt her willingly; that was something well-established by numerous accounts. Whatever bond they shared was so deep not even being bound stopped them from wanting to protect each other.

“Hmph. I see. So be it. But even though your relationship may be close, enough to not want real harm upon the other, siblings do enjoy a little teasing from time to time. What do you say, Alcor? How about having a little fun with her instead? Just a scare.” This time Dug’s body burned. Alcor’s expression didn’t change at all, as if he really were asleep and his body nothing more than a doll, as he raised clawed hands holding a giant ball of his fire, huge enough to engulf a full-grown adult. Belle’s eyes instantly lit.

“You know, that’s a pretty good idea. Except for one small problem…” Alcor threw the ball, and his sister’s hand clenched tightly. “I’m too angry right now to be scared.” She twisted on her toes, bringing her bat up and slugging the fireball so hard it rebounded, zooming now for Terry. The man recoiled in shock, shielding himself from the oncoming fiery orb, losing concentration. The flames passed over him, hurting him as much as a gust would, and he gasped. But the damage was done, and having lost his focus the thorny wall surrounding Belle withered and collapsed.

Several of the cultists grew furious that Belle was still standing. A couple ran forward, shouting how they’d use her body next as Alcor’s offering, but Terry blew them back with his magic. “No! I want to get rid of her myself now!” And with another snap of his fingers even more clones of him appeared. But this time there was something different– these copies had shadows. These were real. 

They ganged up on Belle. The teen tried to fight back, but the close space gave little room for movement, and after a firm blow to the back she dropped her weapon. Once again Belle was caught; this time there was a Terry to hold each of her arms and legs as they moved her to face the original. The real Terry sneered as black magic crept over his body like an aura, giving form to too crooked wings on his lower back and jagged nails on his hands. “This time there shall be no interference.” With fingers pointed squarely at her chest he pulled back his arm.

Orrie hardly thought. All he knew was that he was moving when Terry was, reaching around and behind him in a near muscle-memory reaction. He didn’t even take aim with the grappling gun, simply pointed it forward and shot. The hook missed Terry considerably, not only from it straying too far to the side but also because the cord wasn’t long enough. But it was long enough to strike against the ground with an earsplitting scrape, distracting Terry, and leaving behind a small indent in the stone. Immediately Orrie realized what he had to do.

But first he needed to save Belle. And Terry was no longer going to be distracted. With a click the rope automatically coiled back up, and Orrie took aim at the men and women near the offering circle, a painful ache growing in his chest. He steadied his breathing and fired. The people jumped away, one even stumbling inside the circle to avoid his foot getting skewered by the hook. Orrie nearly hesitated in what he was about to do as absolute guilt gripped his very heart. But the hesitation did not win out. 

“Save Belle!”

For a brief millisecond, a tiny part of him hoped this would fail and just a little less blood would be spilled. But the larger part, the part that wanted to see his friends survive, wanted him to survive, was more than willing to carry out the horrific deed. The man inside the circle had no hope of reacting in time. His body and clothes ignited with starving flames, and he was devoured alive by Alcor’s fire in seconds. Only an agonizing wail managed to escape before he was swallowed up entirely and nothing more remained of him. At the same time, Terry and his clones were flung back from Belle, the copies holding her exploding into sparks and the real one hunched over and clutching his now black and limp hand in pain.

All the other cultists needed several long seconds to comprehend what just happened and why. Several eyes kept darting between Orrie, Terry, the pile of remaining corpses, and each other. “Why are you all just standing—!?” Terry started to shout, but he was cut off by the mad rush to the back of the room. Dozens of cultists were trying to steal bodies, stop others from taking them, or push even more toward the offering circle. It was clear _anyone_ could have a taste of Alcor’s power so long as there was something to sacrifice.

Orrie used this time to recoil the cable and take aim again, his target this time much closer.

“Idiots!” Terry snapped a finger on his uninjured hand to levitate one of his own bickering cultists into the circle. “Stop helping Mizar, Alcor; you have no part in this.” The young man in the circle screamed as the fires consumed again, and Belle let out a startled gasp as whatever was protecting her vanished.

During all this Orrie fired and rewound, fired and rewound. The piercing scrape every time it struck the ground made him want to stop, but he kept at it. Almost there…

A cultist managed to shove someone into the circle and was preparing to make her demand. “Alcor, make me—” But Orrie fired one more time, striking the stone and _finally_ disfiguring a symbol each in the outer and inner rings of runes around him. It was enough for him to leap out of his circle. “—as powerful as Terry!” But no deal could be made with the ritual incomplete. Orrie grinned weakly at his work.

Belle was grinning too. “Way to go, Orrie!” Upon hearing that, Terry, in disbelief, spun around, glaring at the boy. He scowled when he pieced together what happened.

“It doesn’t matter. There’s still enough power to keep Alcor asleep thanks to the supplement circle in—” He froze, his eyes slowing widening as he remembered. “ _NO!_ ” Orrie and Belle were suddenly blasted by a powerful, invisible force. Belle was knocked straight to the ground, but Orrie was blown high into the air. Gravity took hold of his body not long after, and he fell. Out of reflex he held out his arms to stop his fall.

“AAAH!” The impact broke his left arm. He collapsed fully, curling in and hugging the broken limb close. Through tear-filling eyes he saw the bleary image of Belle rushing over to him. Several cultists tried to stop her, but they weren’t getting anywhere near her and her bat.

Terry flew between the two. “This ends here!” he shouted, and he rushed at Belle.

Belle dove and tumbled under him, barely dodging his deadly aura. She made it to Orrie and pulled down her sleeve. Sewn on its inside was a strange yet somewhat recognizable symbol. Grabbing the tip of the dented grappling hook Belle pricked her thumb and smeared the blood onto the symbol.

“ _Snap out of it, Dipper!_ ” 

There was a roar, angry and inhuman, and all at once panic ensued. Orrie curled in tighter, unaware of Belle over him, as cultists ran, screaming, seeking the only exit. None could make it in time, struck down by fire or claws or whatever force Alcor decided to unleash upon them. Orrie peeked an eye open, watching as, pretty soon, the only one left was Terry, his copies no longer with him.

“ **Wel̨l,͝ ͘w̡ell,̧ w̧e҉ll͘–̡ no̕wh̷e̕re to͡ r҉un to?** ” The demon hovered closer to the man, who in turn retreated as far as possible to the wall, completely blocked. Terry’s eyes grew wider with panic by the second, his hands and fingers shaking so badly he could hardly snap. “ **N͠o̢wh͠e͞r̸e̸ ̨to ̧t̸e͠l͟ep̵o̶rt t͟o͟?̛** ” Alcor was maybe five feet in front of him. “ **S̛u͜ch̛ ̢a ̸w͡a͞s̵te͝ o̵f un͢l͘im͘i̡ted pow҉er.͝** ”

“I-I-I don’t understand!” shouted Terry, him pressed flat against the wall as if in desperation to phase through it. “Wh-why can’t I leave!? How are you—!?” 

Alcor smiled, and Orrie froze. That ‘smile’ was nothing but merciless and cold, hungry and sadistic without an ounce of empathy. “ **You ̨m̡ay͝ b̶e̶ th͡e m̸ost po̸werf̛u̡l͜ ͝hum͘an͞ o̡n Ear̷t̨h̶.̨ B̡u͞t̢ you̧ ͠a̢re _no͝҉t̕h͟͡i̵̕n̸̛g̴_ ͢co̵mp͞ar͡ed to̴** **t̴h͡e mo͟s̴t po͜wer̛f͘ul de̕m̴o̶n.̵** ” Wisps of smoke tried to coalesce between the two, but just a flick of Alcor’s hand made them instantly disperse. “ **S̕ee, ͜I ̡re̷membe͟r ev̨e͞ry̸th̷i͏n͘g̛. ̵Your͡ l̴i͝ttl̡e ҉sp̛e̡ll ̵only ͝n̷umbed ̸m҉e m͟e̷nta͞l̕ly̡ ̴and͡ phys͢ica͝l̕ly̕.̴ B̛u͜t ̧I̴ w̢as ̕ve̶ry mu̢ch̷ awa̢re͘.** ” He slammed clawed hands into his shoulders, pinning Terry to the wall. “ **Yo͡u̷ ͏w̛e͠r̸e wr͜on͘g͝ to th͘ink̸ y͡o͠u co̸u͘l̡d͜ ̸us̶e̛ me ̢to ͡kill ͟my Mi̢z̷ar.̴ An̨d ͢then ̧tŗy ̕to ̸k͝i͡ll͘ h҉er ̡y͜oưrse̷l͏f.͠** ” Dagger-like nails dug into Terry’s skin, and the man yelled. “ **Bu̡t yo̵u w҉e҉re͢ r̡ight a͞b̧out one t̷hi͘ng: ͟I d̨o͘ņ’̴t̴ ha̶v͞e̢ ̨any̧ ̵i̧ssue̷s̷ ̶g͡et̛ting̨ ͟ŗid of͘ ̧up̨p̢it̸y b̕r̛a͠t̛s li̸ke͜ ̶yo̶u͜r͠s̡e̕l̡f͠.** ” And he pressed hard, pumping insurmountable amounts of magic into the human. The man went limp in an instant, his body burning away entirely on the inside, impossible for a mere mortal to contain even a sliver of such power.

“Alright, Broseph, you can stop,” Belle called out. Her eyes focused solely on him and not the lifeless being in his hands. Beneath her Orrie tried to sit up. He whimpered as he shifted his arm, and Belle was quick to help him.

Alcor released his hold, and the body fell with a muffled thud, landing sprawled like the rest around it. “ **S̵t͢op?͝ ̵I̵’v͞e ̨h҉a̴r͜dly ev͠e͞n̡ be̡gųn̴.̧ An͜yo̧ne͞ w͠ho̢ t̴ries t̛o hu̴rt̡ y̛o͡u̡ ̕lik̡ȩ t͟h͡at ͜doe͘s̨n̷’͠t̸ ͠de͟s̕e̡r̨ve̕ t̴o—** ” But when he stared at his twin sister he halted. She stared back at him with such pain and tiredness and yet forcefulness he sobered immediately, most of his desire for revenge dampening. 

“They’re all dead,” whispered Belle, “Besides, you’re scaring Orrie.” Dipper’s eyes snapped toward the youngest one, who flinched under his gaze. The demon quickly looked away.

“I…yeah. You’re right. Sorry.” His sights soon located the only other living person in the room. “Er, Mr. Goodman, was it? Let me get you out of there.” The next few minutes was spent getting Orrie to his feet, disabling Mr. Goodman’s confinement, and making sure the elder man had no grievous injuries.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mr. Goodman tried to assure them, but his ashen face had yet to regain its color. “I’m just…blown away by all that has happened recently. To think Alcor himself would stumble upon this manor. I assure you I had no idea any of this was going to happen.”

“I know,” answered Dipper, trying to sound reassuring. It certainly helped that he now looked like a teenager again. “And I’m not angry at you for that. But if you don’t mind, since you’re able, can you find and gather all the evidence relating to this ritual, including the journal entries and notes written by the original cultists?” Mr. Goodman stared at him for a long moment before sighing deeply.

“Yes, I understand. I suppose you want to destroy all of it. No need for another incident like this one.” Dipper didn’t say anything as he conjured forth a cane and handed it to the man. He hobbled slowly toward the door. “Oh, that’s right,” he stopped halfway there, “Terry was using the manor’s security system to block all phone signals and to activate the traps. The controls to it aren’t that far, just out this room and through the door on the right. If you need me to I can turn them all off and call for an ambulance.” 

“Please,” mumbled Belle, and Mr. Goodman continued his way out. The twins glanced briefly at each other before turning to Orrie. The boy couldn’t, for the life of him, gather the willpower to look at either of them in the face. But, he thought to himself, as all the tragedies that had transpired flashed before his eyes, as all the guilt and remorse settled over his heart like a thick blanket, he was still grateful. Grateful to be alive, and grateful to still have the Sterlings with him.

“…Guys,” he muttered dully, low enough Belle had to bend forward to hear him, “I think I’m going to have that break down soon.” Despite how serious she knew he was being Belle chuckled weakly.

“You know, I think I am too.” Already tears were forming in her eyes as she fought to keep up her smile.

“…Okay then.” But he didn’t. Pain and waning adrenaline overcame the body faster than the mind could process, and Orrie was sent falling into sudden but not wholly unwelcomed unconsciousness instead.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

The police and ambulance came an hour later. After intensive questioning, they had to spend the remainder of the day and night at the hospital. Or at least Orrie and Mr. Goodman had to. Dipper (unsurprisingly, Orrie thought to himself with a tiny snort) didn’t have any injuries whatsoever to need a room, and Belle’s were mild enough that the doctors let her leave the same evening after thorough treatment. So it was just him and Mr. Goodman who would have to stay behind. For Orrie it was to heal his broken arm. He’d be continued to be looked after until his parents arrived the next morning. Mr. Goodman, on the other hand, was quite old, so the staff wanted to make certain he was fit enough before discharging him.

Orrie let out a tired sigh, staring at his arm. He was so glad magic technology was becoming more widely used in hospitals; injuries and broken bones could heal nearly twice as fast than they could normally. But the magitech cast had to be worn at all times, and so it was a bit difficult trying to fall asleep with it on and its constant low humming.

He leaned back, trying to get comfortable on the hospital bed. He stared out the window. The moon and stars were remarkably bright tonight; Orrie wondered if Belle and Dipper were looking at them now. He wondered how they were coping. Was this normal for them? Maybe– they did speak a lot about their earlier adventures before. But they had been just as scared as he was confronting the cultists, just as pained and outraged to see innocents die. Orrie choked momentarily thinking about Flynn. He…he never wanted to go through something like that ever again.

A knock on the door disturbed him from his darkening thoughts. “Do you need anything for the night?” the nurse asked with a smile. Orrie shook his head.

“No thank you. I’m good.”

“Alright. Will the cast make it hard for you to get some rest?”

“Um…yeah, actually.” She nodded understandingly, turning to the tablet in her hand.

“This should help. We understand these devices can be quite noisy, so they have built in therapeutic charms to ease with sleeping.” She drew some sort of design on the tablet, which activated the cast into glowing a soft green. Orrie could feel the calming effects immediately. “Better?”  
  
“Much.” She bade him goodnight, and Orrie soon after drifted into blissful slumber.

* * *

 After a morning breakfast and one final check-up, Orrie found himself sitting in the front lobby. He felt self-conscious of the fact he was a boy with a broken arm sitting by himself in a surprisingly busy lobby. Correction: a _teenager_ with a broken arm sitting by himself. Fortunately, most of the people passing were nurses and doctors coming in for their morning shift and not patients in dire need, but he could still feel their curious glances toward him. He kept his eyes averted, staring as best he could out the giant window panel.

The seat cushion sank a bit as someone sat beside him. Orrie looked up. “Mr. Goodman. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” the old man answered, resting his arms in his lap. Orrie felt the edges of his lips twitch, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a genial smile. They sat in silence. “…And you?” Mr. Goodman asked eventually. Orrie jerked, caught off guard since he thought the conversation had stopped.

“Uh, fine. Just…just waiting for my parents.” He leaned back on one arm to make it look like he was totally indifferent about waiting for them, not at all like he was feeling awkward being around the man. Not that Mr. Goodman was a bad person—at least, Orrie was pretty sure about that; Terry had been holding him hostage as well—but…what do you say to the person who just lost his business in a single night? What do you say to the person who, through no ill intent whatsoever, nearly caused you to die and did get several others killed? What do you say to—

“I don’t think Neil ever intended one of his descendants to experience the horrors he had.” Orrie looked up.

“What?”

Mr. Goodman gave him a small, sad smile. “Neil Gogh. My ancestor. I don’t think he ever wanted this to happen.” He stared at his hands. “He realized too late after killing his dear friends what absolute power can do to the mind and soul. It corrupts you, twists you to the point that you might as well be a different person entirely. They were on the verge of capturing one of the most powerful entities in existence and make him bend to their will. In the end he gained no power, lost all his closest allies, and had to go into hiding just to remain free.”

Mr. Goodman exhaled deeply. “I think it was the news report that was the final nail on the coffin for him. To read in full detail the murders of his friends, killed by his own selfish doings. He settled down in a large city miles away. He adopted a new identity. He tried to live the rest of his life as a generous, law-abiding citizen. He used all the powers and knowledge he had to bring happiness instead of heartache to others. He wrote all of this down in his journal, a journal that’s been passed down as a dark heirloom for many generations. I suppose he was trying to atone for his sins.” Orrie let his gaze fall, staring at the floor. He could hear Mr. Goodman’s voice tighten as he continued. “He died believing himself wholly unrepentable. But his newfound desire to help others was passed on to his children, and his children’s children, and all the generations after. I too inherited that desire. So I wanted to reopen the manor to the public. Of course, the murder mystery would be the main draw, but I wished to hold other events and activities to enjoy. Soon the mansion that had housed tragedy and betrayal so long ago became a mansion full of fun and creating happy memories for people of all walks of life. And for years I was living in a dream come true.”

He brought his hands up, gingerly wiping the tears from his eyes before they could fall. “Susie…Ms. Wheatly…was a dear friend of mine. Sue and I met many years ago, and she supported me from the very beginning, back when opening the family home to the public was just an inkling of an idea. It was all her idea to use nursery rhymes as hints, you know. Made all of them herself.” Mr. Goodman sniffled. Before he realized what he was doing, Orrie patted the old man on the shoulder.

“I’m…I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mr. Goodman sniffed again.

“It’s okay, Orrie. I accept what has happened. And we’ll recover from it one day.” Orrie didn’t miss his use of the inclusive term. But he couldn’t speak of the matter for long; Orrie’s parents had arrived and hurried quickly to the receptionist’s desk. “Those are your folks?”

“Yes.” He stood. He paused. He looked back. “What about you? Do you have anyone to pick you up?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mr. Goodman said, smiling softly. “My business won’t, though. I’m shutting down the Manor of Alcor once I get home. Too much death has transpired inside it. Maybe I’ll sell it after I remove all the runes lacing it, or perhaps I’ll have it demolished. Maybe I’ll start another attraction elsewhere. Who knows what the future holds.” He stood up himself, patting Orrie gently on the shoulder. “Goodbye Orrie, and be safe. And tell your folks all the expenses were paid for and then some. Half a million some. It’s the least I can do.”

Orrie couldn’t reply right away. “Thank you, Mr. Goodman,” he at last said. “And good luck with everything. Take care.” The old man shook his hand briefly before heading out the front doors. Orrie watched him leave as his parents sprinted over to him and nearly crushed him in their tight, protective embraces.

* * *

Orrie stared at the blank plaster that was his bedroom ceiling. He’d been doing that a lot the last two weeks since he returned home from the hospital. Just lie on his bed and stare into space, contemplating. He hadn’t touched his sketchbook in ages. He didn’t want to. Not so much because of what it reminded him of (as if he could _ever_ forget that anyway) but more so because he didn’t wish to upset his parents even further. For them to see their son still interested in the demon who caused all this, albeit inadvertently? They’d probably go into a panic thinking he was possessed or brainwashed or something.

They were being a bit too overprotective, though, he long since realized. Walking with him practically everywhere he went except to school, texting him every thirty minutes whenever he was away to see if he was fine, peeking into his room when they thought he wouldn’t notice. Orrie sighed. He loved his parents. But no matter how often he told them he was alright, they’d just nod their heads as if they understood and put on a fake smile that clearly said they weren’t listening. Perhaps once the cast was finally removed they’d see he was fine and give him his space.

Orrie inhaled then exhaled deeply before rolling onto his side. His eyes settled on the sketchbook resting on his dresser. He looked away, convincing himself that he didn’t need to worry about them. That they were alright. That they probably weren’t even thinking of him as often as he was of them. His gaze returned to the book. Yeah, he hadn’t been very good at lying to himself lately. Why shouldn’t he make sure everything was fine with the Sterlings? They were his friends now. His parents’ worry for him could wait.

Quietly, Orrie slipped off the bed and crept toward his bedroom door. It was very late at night; he could hear his father’s soft snores coming from down the hall. Still, to be safe, he locked his door so no one could intrude. He was sorely underprepared what with this being a last-minute idea, but maybe an exception could be made. And it wouldn’t be for long anyway. Orrie walked over to his sketchbook and tore out a blank page, placing it on the floor. Grabbing a marker, he expertly drew the summoning circle on the paper, referencing his notes multiple times to make certain nothing was amiss. He then went to his backpack and pulled out the sympathy chocolate bar one of his teachers at school gave him after his first day back from the hospital and placed it just outside the circle. Taking a shuddering breath to calm himself, he took out a tiny switchblade and cut thinly across his finger, letting a few bloody drops fall onto the circle.

He whispered the incantation quietly but clearly.

The lights in his room flickered before taking on an unearthly bright blue shade. Smoke unfurled from the center of the circle, expanding rapidly until it took the shape of a certain demon floating cross-legged above it, not even bothering to contain himself within its small circumference. His gaze was initially on the paper, disdain obvious as he leered at the crude method of summoning, lack of candles, and meager offering. But when he looked up and spotted who his summoner was, his contempt shifted quickly into mild disbelief.

“Orrie?” The boy, however, said nothing. Instead, he reactively backed away closer to his door, fear flashing in his eyes at the sight of the deceptively young adult human male. The demon blinked before realizing the problem. “Oh, right. How’s this?” In an instant, Alcor regressed in apparent age, being now the even younger and much more familiar Dipper Sterling…clothes and demonic features notwithstanding. Orrie relaxed a bit.

“Hey there, uh…” He probably should have figured out what to call him before summoning him. “Di…Alcor?”

“Is there anyone who can eavesdrop?” Alcor asked. Orrie shook his head. “Then call me Dipper.”

A small, internal sigh. “Hey Dipper. It’s been a while. I just, um, I just wanted to know how you and Belle were doing.” He played with his fingers nervously. Even if this was his friend, this was still his first time alone with a demon, particularly one known for being unpredictable. Without his sister to keep him in check, what was Dipper really like? Would he find this summons a complete waste of his time?

Dipper paused for a brief second. “That’s it? You just want to know how we’re doing?” He stared deeper at Orrie. “Is that really all?”

The boy shuddered slightly under the intense gaze, but he refused to look away from the golden irises. “Yes. I…” Dare he admit it? “I really do wonder how you’re both doing. Are you okay? Is Belle? She did get hurt even though the doctors let her go that same day. I know you’ve been through danger like that before, but you’re still kids. Well, Belle is, and you’re acting like one. Wait, don’t take that the wrong way! I just—” He took a deep breath. “I was worried about you guys. But since I didn’t hear anything from you I just assumed you were doing well. And had moved on. But I just needed to be sure, and so…” He gestured vaguely to the lame ritual preparations.

Dipper chuckled. “So you decided to summon me just to check up on us?” His eyes seemed to brighten as he looked around the room once more. “You do know it’s _not_ a good idea to summon the most dangerous demon known on a whim, right?” Orrie smiled sheepishly, remembering.

“I’m sorry. I only wanted to make sure, even if you forgot about me.”

“Forgot?” Dipper was quick to question, much to Orrie’s surprise. “Why would we forget about you? You’re our friend, Orrie. At least I thought we were.”

“We are! I mean, we are, right? I want to be. You, me, Belle– I didn’t think everything we’d done would lead to nothing between us. But like I said, when I didn’t hear anything from you I thought you’d gotten over everything. And it’s not like I didn’t try to call you or contact you, but I couldn’t find your numbers or anything.”  
  
“Well, we don’t exactly put that information out in the open for just anyone to find,” smirked Dipper. “But I see how you came to this decision. I have no excuse for not being able to contact you; Belle wanted to check up on you right after we came home from the hospital, but I convinced her to give you your space. I figured sooner or later you’d come around to telling us you were fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The days passed, and you never did. I popped in every once in a while to see you myself. But when I saw you actively keeping your distance from your sketchbook, I assumed _you_ wanted nothing more to do with _us_.”

Orrie’s eyes widened at the admission. “What? No, I was keeping my distance so I wouldn’t worry mom and dad. I didn’t think…oh wow, this has been a huge misunderstanding.” He laughed, careful to keep his volume controlled and not loud enough to wake his parents. He looked at Dipper, smile still plastered on his face. “I’m fine. My arm is healing well; I’ll get the cast off in about a week. And my parents have me going to counseling, which is going alright. I haven’t had nearly as many nightmares since starting at least. And we donated most of the prize money I got to charity; only a small bit we’re keeping for my college savings and the therapy.”

Dipper nodded. “That’s good. Belle and I are doing just fine, and she’ll be excited to hear you’re doing well too. We didn’t need the money either, so we gave it to some family friends of ours. Our lives have pretty much gotten back to normal, or what passes as normal for us. Despite how exciting as our lives can get, this isn’t exactly something that happens every other Tuesday. We really were worried about you.” To hear that from the demon in person made Orrie speechless for a moment.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, looking down. After a brief moment he looked back up, meeting Dipper’s gaze again, a spark of hope in his eyes. “So summer vacation is about to start, and I was wondering, if you and Belle had nothing better to do, we could…hang out? Catch up on things? Solve our own, less dangerous mysteries? Maybe even at Gravity Falls? My parents have kinda been planning a trip there for ages now. And it’d be cool if we had some people who knew the place well enough to give us a tour.” He gave the demon his best winning smile.

Dipper only laughed at the silent plea. “We’ll see. Then again, what better way is there to spend a summer holiday than with friends, right?”


End file.
